Forbidden World

by Jeremy Michelson

  My legs were aching from all the stepping upward. But I didn’t mind.

  I needed time to think about what I should expect at the top.

  And whether I should use it.

  I came up to another etched image of The King. This one was centered on him. Koba and Ivfa were there. But more in the background, at the front of a wide line of soldiers.

  I paused to take it in.

  The King had his staff out in front of him. Pointed to a river of fire. Figures of Dendon people poked up from the fire, their faces in agony.

  Stylized lightning bolts arced out from the end of the King’s staff, touching the river and some of the tortured souls in the fire.

  “So what’s the story here?” I asked my Dendon buddy, “The King doesn’t look too merciful here.”

  There was a pause long enough for me to turn to resume my journey up the stairs. Then the Dendon spoke.

  That was the battle of Kaltyon Valley. The King offered the army of Gojem Yothe peace if they would forsake their savage ways and swear allegiance to him.

  “Let me guess. They said screw you. And then The King basically said no, screw YOU.”

  Your language is disrespectful. The army of Gojem Yothe were the most savage of all the warlords. Their crimes against the people of Dendon were so vile that even now Gojem Yothe is a term of utmost filth.

  The King offered to forgive them if they swore to reform and become good citizens of The King’s new realm.

  “And when they didn’t, The King made an example of them. Right?”

  He did. The King made it clear that evil committed against our people could not be tolerated.

  “Did these Gojem Yothe guys kill people?”

  That was one of their crimes.

  “So them killing other people bad. King killing them good?”

  You are accusing The King of hypocrisy. You are not so naive as to believe every solution is morally pure.

  Okay, he got me there. I shut up for a while as I got back to climbing the crystal steps. I didn’t agree that killing was justified. However, I wasn’t so pure that I didn’t understand that sometimes killing was a solution to particularly bad problems.

  But I didn’t think it was the solution.

  And Dendon’s fabled Last King wasn’t some goody two shoes. This guy was vicious in his pursuit of his agenda.

  The King believed he had a limited amount of time to accomplish his goals. That often left him without room for nuance. Or niceties.

  “So was that because of the time machine?” I asked, “Was it going to spring him back to the time he came from? Or something else?”

  The Dendon paused before answering.

  I rolled my eyes.

  “You going to tell me that’s classified?” I said, “Come on. It’s part of the story. Even if it’s an unofficial part.”

  The King claimed to have an enemy who would one day find him and end his life. He wished to guide the future First King and prepare him to become a just and compassionate ruler.

  "Sounds like he went back to make a king," I said, "There's no way Koba would have become a King without The King to drag him there. Tell me I'm wrong there, buddy."

  The silence stretched out as I climbed the stairs. The etchings on the wall just got more violent. Scenes of armies chopping each other to bits. Towns laid to waste. Fire engulfing men.

  Nasty stuff.

  And in the middle of it all was The King. And Koba. And Ivfa.

  The faces of Koba and Ivfa were always carved with serene expressions. As if they were out enjoying a mild summer day.

  It would have been more honest to draw expression of terror and disgust on their faces.

  The history of Dendon has been written with many voices.

  I stopped my climb.

  "Many voices?" I asked, "You mean they've gone back more than once?"

  The King of Dendon has the privilege to write the history of this world. If he chooses.

  And suddenly I saw why Dendon was a dead world.

  “The King didn’t get back in time, did he?” I said, “He missed whatever temporal window there was to go back and start the cycle all over again.”

  The King’s journey was not completed.

  Until now.

  Chills ran over me.

  “Hey, buddy,” I said, “That’s a lot to lay on an Earth guy.”

  You must complete the journey. To complete the journey, you must become King. To become King, you must best the Three Challenges. You must Best the Dragon. To Best the Dragon you need the Sword.

  That is why you are here. Why you are climbing this sacred stairway that every King of Dendon has climbed. With every step you take, you prove your worthiness. And when you reach the top of this tower, you shall be pure enough to take the Sword.

  Oh, crap. What had I gotten myself into?

  Here I thought I was being clever. When I was just being manipulated again.

  "Hey, buddy," I said, "What happens when I get the sword and slay the dragon and get crowned and all that? Am I supposed to jump in your time machine and go back and start this craziness all over again?

  You are the hope of Dendon. You will complete the people’s mission. The legacy of Dendon will not death.

  Nope. Not going to do it.

  “I’ve got a different plan,” I said, “I’m going back downstairs. You’re going to show me where Liz is. Then I’m going to take that Don ship and we’re leaving this creepy planet forever.”

  I turned around.

  As I did, all the steps below me flattened out against the copper wall with a musical tinkling.

  Apparently, I was going up whether I wanted to or not.

  Fifty-Three

  Zek

  This was all Captain Tejoh’s fault.

  Wedged in a corner between the stone walls of a building and a stone box of some sort, Commander Zek counted the ways in which he would murder Captain Tejoh.

  When he found him.

  And after he got himself out of this current situation.

  His armor hummed and hissed as he moved to peer around the corner of the stone box. Several hundred feet away, dim light shone through the open hatch of the excursion craft. Which idiot had left the craft unmanned?

  Though technically he had been in charge, someone should have stayed behind.

  Or closed the hatch, at the very least.

  He leaned back. The metallic stink of the suit and his own sweat was distracting. He never liked using the armor. Unlike most of those who earned the right to wear it.

  Not that he didn’t appreciate it.

  The armor was the only thing that saved him from the insane metal beasts that attacked the guards.

  And carried off with them.

  Well, the other thing that had saved him was his strategic decision to retreat. While the guards had been engaging the enemy, he activated his suit’s flight jets and zoomed out of the area. The jets were only good for short hops. But that was all he needed.

  To strategically retreat.

  It wasn’t running. Not at all. Running was for cowards.

  Leaders retreated. For strategic purposes.

  Because leaders were important and should be protected. So they could continue leading.

  That was how it would be painted on his report. In the event that a report on this unholy screwup of a mission was ever filed.

  He brought up a status report on his helmet screen. The suit hadn’t sustained any damage. But the plasma blasters were nearly depleted. He only had a few hours of air left.

  Better armor could have pulled oxygen out of the thin atmosphere around it.

  Which was exactly one class above what he was currently wearing. Damned cost-cutting bureaucrats at Intelligence Command.

  The excursion craft had oxygen, though. And spare weapons. As well as engines to get him off this planet and back to The Hojan’s Murder.

  A gust of wind whipped around the corner of the building. Driving sand and dust agains
t him. The suit’s heaters weren’t compensating for the cold that was seeping into his bones.

  He needed to cut his losses. Get back up to The Hojan’s Murder and burn out of this system while they still could.

  Strategic Retreat.

  And when they got back to port…

  Well, he’d have a lot of time between now and then to compose a report explaining the loss of the captain. And six security personnel. And an escape pod.

  Actually, the tricky part of the report would be explaining the loss of six plasma blasters and six suits of security issue armor.

  Damned bean counters.

  Probably come out of his paycheck for decades.

  And just when had he given up on thoughts of fabulous wealth from bringing the secrets of Dendon technology back to Emperor HeJov?

  Right about when those things attacked.

  Strategic Retreat. That’s what this was about.

  Those who strategically retreated lived to fight–or strategically retreat–another day.

  The only question now was…

  Where were those metal beasts?

  He hadn’t stuck around long enough to see where they went. Probably back to some underground lair. To wherever the things took Captain Tejoh.

  To do whatever–hopefully excruciatingly painful–thing they were going to do with him. If the Captain happened to die in horrible agony, that would be just fine.

  What he wouldn’t think about was how he was the one who had brought the Dendon buoy’s alert to the captain’s attention.

  No, this was definitely Tejoh’s fault. The man was Captain, after all.

  And he was definitely putting off thinking about the distance to the open hatch of the excursion craft. Another thing he didn't want to think about was how the white-hot plasma from the guards' blasters just splashed off the metal beasts like water.

  So many things to not think about. They made his head hurt.

  He shifted his weight. The suit's servos hissed and whined as he got ready to launch himself from his crouch. Another gust of wind blasted sand and dust over him, nearly making him lose his balance. For a few seconds, he lost visuals.

  He frantically brushed the dust away from his visor.

  The excursion craft was still there. Light still spilled from the open hatchway.

  He stood up, panning his arms back and forth. The plasma blasters hummed, sending vibrations up his arms. His breath came quick, his heart racing.

  He was a Don. Don feared nothing.

  Don were the unchallenged supreme warriors of the galaxy. Other races trembled before the might of the Don empire.

  He drew another, shuddering breath and forced the tremors from his body. Don warrior. He was a Don warrior.

  Not a glorified bureaucrat.

  He moved out into the street. Amped up the suit’s battle scanner. Suddenly movement showed up on all sides.

  He shouted and fanned out white-hot plasma fire all around him.

  Hitting nothing but Dendon buildings and street decorations.

  The scanner still showed movement. Face burning, he turned the sensitivity down on the scanner.

  Wind. Just wind and swirling dust. Making the suit sensors think invisible monsters were stalking him.

  Like ghosts.

  He cursed at his own stupidity. And the designers of the armor. They could have compensated for such things.

  Maybe that would be in his report. Let the blame flow from many streams, into a mighty river of crap.

  Quickly, he moved toward the excursion craft. His movement turned into a sprint. The ship was only so far away. Just a few seconds.

  Something caught his eye.

  He put on the brakes. Came to a shuddering stop, his plasma blasters aimed upward.

  On the cylindrical building near the ship, there was a light at the top of it. Pale, blue-white light. Something moved with it.

  He hesitated. Had the suit zoom in on the light. Saw the figure within it.

  Suddenly, he had a change of plans.

  Fifty-Four

  Chris

  Going down was not an option.

  Not unless I grew wings.

  The crystal stairway below me had collapsed against the copper wall. I braced my hand on the central gold column. Drew in a sharp breath of coppery, spicy air as the musical ringing from the crystal steps echoed up the column. My gut clenched as I contemplated the distance down to the bottom of the hollow cylinder. I shivered, and not just from the icy air.

  I suppose I could have just jumped off the step and fallen to the bottom. Gotten killed and waited to be revived. Then walked out the door.

  Suicide really wasn’t my style, though.

  And I had a feeling that the Dendon was going to get me to the top of this tower one way or another.

  No point in putting it off.

  Willing or not, I was on a journey that I’d been manipulated into taking. Over and over again.

  “So, buddy,” I said to my inner Dendon, “Want to tell me what I’m going to find at the top?”

  You will find your destiny. You will find if you have the strength of kings.

  Not exactly what I was looking for. I sighed and moved up to the next step.

  The clear, crystal step I’d been standing on flipped down against the copper wall. It rang like a bell.

  “Really? Is that necessary?” I said.

  A King does not look back. Only forward.

  Blah, blah, blah.

  “You’re a real killjoy, you know that?”

  I do not have the luxury of being trivial.

  "On person's trivial is another person's happiness," I said, "So go stuff your judgement up your non-corporeal ass."

  I continued up the steps. They fell away as I went, ringing against the copper wall. Sending echoes up and down the hollow column.

  With the weak glow of light from my body, I glanced at the scenes etched on the copper walls. The scenes just got more violent. Poor Koba and Ivfa in the middle of all of it.

  And The King, of course. Always at the edges. Always with a beatific and paternal look on his face.

  I really wanted to punch the look off his face.

  “So, buddy, has the Dendon race ever survived past the apocalypse?” I asked, “If they keep repeating this loop in time, do they ever get out of it?”

  The Dendon didn’t answer.

  “You’ve been through it all, haven’t you?” I asked, “You keep going back with The King, don’t you?”

  I went with the King to his destruction. Everything he was, he left with me.

  A chill went through me. I tried to imagine the people of Dendon, caught in this horrible loop. Paying with their lives over and over and over again.

  Every account I had found about Dendon painted it as the most advanced, most morally perfect race in the galaxy.

  But the Dendon were like that nice, normal family down the street. Dad had a nice, good paying job. Went to work every day in a suit in tie. Mom stayed home and kept the house clean when she wasn't doing volunteer work or attending PTA meetings. The kids were always clean, well-behaved and well spoken. They excelled in school and were star players on the sports team. The family went to church every Sunday and always helped out their neighbors, smiling all the while.

  But that perfect family hid dark, dark secrets.

  Maybe dad liked to have a few too many shots of bourbon after work. Maybe mom hid all her empty wine cooler bottles at the bottom of the trash can. Maybe big brother liked to do things to the younger siblings. Maybe there were things in their basement that they didn’t want to talk about.

  In other words, those perfect people were messed up. Like the rest of the world. Only maybe a little bit more so since they were so good at putting on a front.

  So was that it, Dendon buddy? Were they perfect family with the darkness eating at their hearts? Was their shining city hiding a rotten core?

  As the thoughts ran through my head, I could feel the smoldering anger we
lling up. Not anger of my own. Someone else's feelings.

  There is much you don’t understand.

  “I bet,” I said, “But there’s a lot you don’t understand, either.”

  What do you mean?

  “You’ll find out.”

  Tell me what you mean.

  “I’ll keep the mystery to myself,” I said, “For once, it can be you who stews in ignorance.”

  I kept climbing the stairs. They kept falling away behind me in a musical procession. I kept glancing at the terrible scenes etched on the copper walls.

  It felt like the carnage would never end.

  And maybe it wouldn’t.

  Or maybe it already had. And someone was eager to start it up again.

  “Hey, buddy,” I said to my passenger, “Tell me about The King’s enemy. You know, the one who tried to throw a monkey wrench into things. Who was he? Or was it she?”

  A wave of anger and…sorrow(?) washed over me. Not my emotions. His.

  Those events do not matter now. When you ascend to the Golden Throne, when you are King, you will complete the cycle.

  “No, buddy, the cycle’s already broken,” I said, “Dendon lost. Your King lost. Everyone on the planet lost. But then, maybe it was more like a release.”

  You think you understand, but you do not. Dendon’s final mission must be completed.

  I didn’t have an answer to that. Nothing that my Dendon buddy would like, anyway. But I continued to climb the crazy crystal stairs and think.

  There weren't any clues to The King's enemy in the etched scenes on the copper walls. Who could have opposed The King strongly enough to throw a monkey wrench into his plans?

  Someone who dearly wanted a different path.

  Someone who hated what their world had become.

  “Was it his bodyguard?” I asked, “Did she finally see what kind of insanity this whole game was.”

  The Dendon didn’t answer. But I did get a jolt of anger from out of nowhere.

  Bullseye.

  “How many times could one person go through this time cycle without going crazy?” I asked.