Skylantern Dragons and the Monsters of Mundor

by Scott Taylor

  Prologue

  The meta-universe or “multiverse”, a term employed by American psychologist and philosopher, William James in 1895, later used to attribute numerous possibilities to parallel universes. The noun multiverse, “Multi” meaning “Many” and “verse” or versus (part participle of vertere to turn).

  In all parallel universes there exist a billion other potential possibilities and likelihoods. Worlds subsist and occupy the same positions in space as other worlds, but never occupying the same universe, and not always at the same time. Interconnected by silent, invisible threads, umbilical cords if you will, these sister worlds have equal mass, but exist in different meta-universes. But the fate of one world always affects the fate of all the others.

  This is a tale of a fated sphere and its sister world, the origin of both their fates…

  This sister world of legends resided in the deepest heart of the known multiverse. Its name was abiding as it was eternal, a world where science and magic existed in mutual perpetuity, and where ancient and mystical castles rose up beside great modern towers, and warriors, and barbarians fought side by side with space age machines, and guns, including battle axe and sword. And there was also great evil, an evil so powerful that it set out to steal all the magic in the world. Suffering tore through the mage community as those endowed with the gift of magic were attacked all at once as though something, someone was robbing them of their respective powers.

  The demonic evil force had forged a weapon so potent it was able to strip the world of its enchantments, drawing all its power and magic to one place like a magnet.

  Not even the gods and goddesses of this planet were safe from its influences. The demon sat beneath the great dome of his mighty weapon, allowing all the energy to enter his body, making him mightier than even the gods.

  One hero stepped up to the challenge though. One man with the capacity to subdue the vile creature travelled to the north to do battle with the demon…and won! The demon, defeated, watched on in horror as his evil machine exploded in a blaze and massive inferno, releasing a God particle that came into existence for only a fraction of a second. As the God particle exploded in the sky its power ripped open a doorway to that world's sister dimension, allowing a terrible ripple of energy to leak through its momentary aperture.

  The timeless world was saved. However, there was another world, another planet, a sister planet that dwelt in another parallel dimension. This second parallel world shared an umbilical cord, unseen by the naked eye, though was connected in such a way that if one of these worlds encountered a terrible atrocity, the other would feel it a thousand-fold.

  Beyond the umbilical cord, beneath a once blue, untroubled sky a technologically advanced culture, a people known as the Mundorians, began to receive attacks from an unknown source. A massive and unexplained energy build up began to show up on the scanners of every research station available. To these Mundorians magic and enchantment were alien concepts. There was commotion as this unknown power seared from the skies above their cities like lightning, as though the end of days had come. Great churning orbs of light began to emerge over the cities causing massive earth tremors. Many people of Mundoria began to perish.

  Eventually things began to calm down. The centuries passed in the blink of an eye. The few survivors of Mundorian history told stories to their children, conveying tales of centuries passed, of a time when technology and dragons existed side-by-side in harmony. They also spoke of the apocalypse that came, a catastrophe that killed off most of the dragons, and ended the great epoch of scientific advancements forever, making magic and sorcery the order of the day. Soon these tales passed into legend and from legend to nothing more than whispers.

  One day technology was forgotten on Mundoria forever. In the end, there was no sign of the cities that had stood for countless years. There was no glass or steel, only brick and mortar. Medieval castles rose from the landscapes surrounded by warring territories, and the world knew only blood and conflict, though peace was always a desire.

  This is the story of one such region and one such desire. Though aspirations sometimes come with a terrible price…

  Chapter 1

  All of Mundoria was a grand dramatic stage, and upon this stage the actors performed the great spectacle.

  Tales were told of one such spectacle, a great drama, a tragedy of a sort. And upon this stage a war was about to be enacted. Indeed the universe was vast and this story was not that uncommon. Be that as it may, many commonplace stories were populated by truly extraordinary people in remarkable places, during unexpected times. If time was any indication then the stage was set, and the heroes and villains all situated—and the place…? The place was known primarily as Mundor.

  Mundor was a high, weather-beaten citadel contrived from stone. The firmament was abundant with rain cloud and threatened gloom upon the barren rock where the shepherds goaded their flocks. Mundor—the realm that was stark with the silhouettes of trees, damp, and austere without leaves, without the promise of a spring to come—this was home to a king, a king whom like sorrow, knew of the gravity and weight of duty, and felt his back arc and bend beneath its crude weight.

  It was mid evening by the time King René called the council together for a meeting.

  Behind him, hung like bunting from the bleak stone wall, was the crest of his house—a ruby red dragon burning the heart and sceptre of men, a harsh reminder of a past long diminished. There was a grave look about the man’s grizzled, bearded features as he began to voice his concerns, addressing his advisers from across the great wooden table.

  ‘The day we all feared would arrive has come. The Sinistrom have approached our borders.’

  The level of sounds rose as mutterings among the gathering increased, signifying the trepidation they all felt for this news.

  ‘But…!’ he went on, cutting through the cacophony suddenly, ‘I have devised a plan which should buy us some time at least.’

  There was a silence. A heavy question mark filled the hush, one which King René was only too pleased to annihilate with an explanation:

  I have sent word to the Sinistrom that we wish to talk terms of peace.’

  The level of mutterings rose again quickly.

  ‘They are sending us a representative, someone with whom we can talk directly and convey our sincerity.’

  ‘This is madness!’ spoke out a member of the court.

  ‘The Sinistrom will never listen to a plea of reconciliation, not in a thousand years!’

  ‘They will listen! They are sending us an ambassador! Their armies are too great. We would not last a day if it came to all out war. Peace is our only hope, gentlemen.’

  King René could tell from just looking at all the faces present in the room that many of his people were sceptical. Though the king’s word was law, and whatever he decided must ultimately be accepted.

  As the room cleared, René called for his son. The servants shrugged in unison.

  ‘No one has seen the prince, sire’ a servant answers boldly.

  ‘What do you mean “no one has seen him?”’ the king bellowed.

  ‘He went off this morning, sire. He told no one where he was going. He simply left without any explanation.’

  The king frowned. That useless boy! That lazy useless layabout! What good is he?

  ◆◆◆

  Five hours later:

  Prince Fabian stood totally still in the deep forest, trying to take stock of his motives for being in this savage place. This was the farthest he had ever wandered. Before, necessity had always forced him to turn back to what he considered safe and recognisable. Home was always in
the heart. But to Prince Fabian home meant something different. It was the place he could never escape. He just didn’t have the guts to venture out any further, or so he kept telling himself. But then, there was something so compelling about the unknown wasn’t there, something undeniable about the desire for something other than the known. And there was something deep within him, something missing, and something that haunted him, passionate and suffocating, dogging his every need. There was indeed another life beyond the known, another existence. There was indeed a bigger world if only he had the nerve to chase it.

  This provincial life had conjured more questions than answers, stirring feelings more primal than he cared to admit. He looked about him, seeing only the dense foliage of the forest, feeling that he alone was the only one out here, and sensing that he was missing out on something, though he couldn’t explain the thing that was absent.

  Through the silence he heard a faint cry. Turning his head in the direction of the distant sound, he moved like lightning. He soared, fleet of foot, drawn to the cry of distress. Eventually, he came to a halt in a clearing. There the sound was again, desperate and fraught with terror.

  Down in the open valley, Fabian began to sniff the air. It smelled faintly of aloe, the cruel, enticing stench of a predator. He recognised it and began to run in the direction of the screams. It didn’t take him all that long to find the source of the shouts either. A young farmer’s boy had wondered off, perhaps searching for firewood for the furnace, and had wondered into the path of a carnivorous Pitcher Plant. Lured in by its irresistible scent no doubt, the unfortunate child had discovered that certain allures were best ignored. Too late! The creature’s massive vines were animate and were wrapped around the legs of the human boy, pulling him steadily closer to the gaping maw of the inner sanctum. Aloe mixed with mucus frothed and bubbled. Teeth as sharp as razors dripped with anticipation as the victim was pulled closer and closer, and closer.

  Without once thinking of his own safety, Prince Fabian drew his dagger and leaped to save the boy. He wasn’t fast enough however. Another slimy tentacle snapped outward, grabbing the prince by the ankle. Now he and the helpless victim were both ensnared it seemed. Some rescue! All he had done was doom himself as he watched the tiny child next to him being drawn towards the deadly maw. The vines were tight and inescapable. Fabian attempted to dig in. It was just out of the corner of his eye he noticed a small falcon perch atop a hanging tree limb. It was soon ensnared, and faster than either two of the human victims. Fabian watched in horror as the great and majestic bird was forced near the mouth. Beating its wings like mad to escape, the creature was forced near the mouth of the giant pitcher and was brought into contact with the bubbling enzymes that exuded like a white froth. Fabian watched on in revulsion as the flesh started to melt off the creature’s bones. Stomach acids! The boy’s screams were deafening at this point. He tried grasping on to stones, grass, turf, anything that appeared rooted, and further he went, advancing towards the mouth that would strip him of his flesh. The remains of the once majestic bird lay strewn upon the earth, a mere collection of bones.

  Prince Fabian could not have predicted what happened next, since it had only occurred once when he was very young, and only partially. He suddenly recognised it, the impulsive feeling of rage and power. The transformation. A metamorphosis of man into dragon! Holding on to a tree root, he noticed the sudden discoloration on his hands, the odd greyish tincture, and the veins and capillaries of his flesh grew in size. All up his arm this strange phenomenon began to spread. His veins turned black and were almost like small pipes beneath his throbbing tissue. With a strange curiosity, he observed the nails on the end of his fingers growing in size. His fingers too were extending outwards, growing more feral in appearance, and less like human appendages. How fortunate that the young boy was unaware of this. That poor child. It would have been an unforgivable felony to have added to the victim’s terror, particularly as he was already driven out of his wits by the panic that held him.

  The world and all its colours were washed away, replaced by the red tint of passion in his eyes. Prince Fabian felt his muscles enlarging beneath his leather tunic. His clawed hands had grown and distended beyond the size and stature of any mortal hands. He could no longer speak or utter words, but only emit certain low grunts, feeling much of his higher brain functions, the seat of all civilised conduct, slip away. He only understood the primal needs of his nature. And the power and the anger grew fiercely behind his blood-red, Machiavellian eyes.

  Which of these two beasts would win out in the end, Machiavellian beast or large carnivorous Picher Plant? For in Prince Fabian's place stood a large anthropomorphic dragon, the only one of its kind. The vines still tangled round its legs, the dragon creature gave a cocky and conceited smile. Grasping onto the tendrils and vines, the dragon tugged at the plant, unearthing it. The great vegetable rasped as it soon discovered it was rudely outmatched. The child was released quickly from the vine’s clutches. Taking hold of the rest of the vines, the dragon creature used its immense strength to swing the monstrous maw above its head, pitching it in all directions before eventually letting go. The gaping maw and all its flailing vines catapulted a few feet into the air before landing on a tree, impaled finally upon its thorny brushwood.

  The little boy sat stock still with scrapes and bruises all over his legs and up his arms. He was motionless, terrified even to move. This strange dragon creature had suddenly appeared to save his life, though for what despicable purpose he could not tell.

  The dragon merely stood there, like it didn’t know what to do next. The webbed wings behind its back slowly dropped and folded away. Its red eyes did not appear to engender the presence of evil, but contrition. Then, out of disgust or penitence, it disappeared into the thicket with a single bound. The threat was gone. The child began to cry out, filling the forest with an appeal, a desperate call for his father.

  ◆◆◆

  At the border of the forest Prince Fabian lay unconscious for a short time. He dreamed of the shining red dragon, a power beyond his control, a hatred stimulated by anger and rage. He woke suddenly feeling the sun on his back, the heat on his bare flesh. It didn’t take him long to realise he was naked. Silence merged with confusion as the prince looked down at his hands. A few miner lacerations had appeared, though he had no memory of receiving them, only a strange feeling, like a vague afterimage. He heard a gunshot in the distance. Somewhere a flock of crows took to the skies, filling the air with their beating wings and cries.

  ‘Get up! Get up I say!’

  The voice was full of disgust and anger.

  Prince Fabian's vision had not yet cleared fully, but he could feel the rough sensation of a padded glove on his arm, gripping tightly, urging him to stand.

  Vision slowly began to return. Soon he realised he was being addressed by two of the king’s men. They had come to take him back. This was far from good news. In the end he was escorted home, draped in a long flowing gown, and wearing a cowl to conceal his identity from all onlookers as they neared the castle boundaries. By this time he could feel the shame of his father, the embarrassment of the captain of the guard who had already seen him, and the silent mocking of those who served under him. This saddened and angered the young prince. It saddened him because he was being hauled back in such disgrace and angered because no one trusted him, or accepted him for who he was. He had left this place to find something, but all he had found was this provincial prison he had known all his life. He could not escape the incarceration that not only enslaved him daily, but jeered at his differences, and beat him down for his apparent improprieties. He could not have felt more alone, surrounded as he was by all these blind and insufficient countrymen. Disconsolate, spirit crushed, and impotent to rebel, he planned his escape…where? Where could he go that did not fill every fibre of his being with terror, or journey that did not bring him crouching back to the common and familiar home he had known all his life? He hated his own timidity a
nd felt abashed at his helplessness, and lack of courage. For there was one thing he feared more than the unknown, and that was facing his father’s irritation.

  ‘Your Father will see you now’ the captain of the guard said, making it sound more like a begrudged command than a humble request. The door to the royal chambers was opened and this shabby object of ridicule, dressed in a robe and cowl, was goaded in.

  ‘What have you to say for yourself?’ uttered a deep and commanding voice.

  Prince Fabian could not bring himself to raise his head, to look at the man sitting upon the ancient throne.

  ‘Explain!’ the grizzled old potentate barked at him.

  The boy didn’t answer, could not answer. Silence was his solitary response. However, the words of his father did not stave the plotting of his mind, did not prevent the chattering of his thoughts, or the words he did not dare utter out loud.

  Before he knew what was happening, his father was on his feet. He strode up to him, tearing the cloak from his bare flesh, exposing his nakedness to the light. Prince Fabian could not have felt more inferior than he did at that moment.

  ‘Cowering child! I wish I had left you for dead! One heir to the throne of Mundor and you had to embarrass me, in front of the guards…again! You spit in my face and make a mockery of all that we have built!’

  The older man tightened his lips as he looked on in disgust at the boy standing before him.

  ‘A pity your mother died’ he continued to speak upon reflection. He turned his back to tend the fire, jabbing the hot coals with his poker. The blaze rose and sparked as it offered a warm glow to the already icy temperature of the room.

  ‘Now I am left with you’ he stated finally with disappointment evident in his voice.

  It was at that moment the son and heir decided to speak up.

  ‘I have known a mother’s love. Once…before the accident…’

  His voice cracked with emotion. He looked at his father whose back was turned to him in loathing.