The Rise of Plant Man, Lord of War, Conquest and Revenge: Green Monk of Tremn, Part II (Coins of Amon-Ra Book 2)

by NJ Bridgewater

  Ifunka Kaffa awoke in the arms of his beloved Arwa, who was already awake, her chin on his breast. Her soft, black hair lay gently on his muscular torso. Her eyes, sweet and innocent as a tvung-faun, were like deep wells of mystery which drew him into their profoundest depths. She smiled widely, her teeth like white pearls, sweet dimples in her cheeks, her face a brilliant rose, refulgent in the early morning light. He grabbed her tousled hair and planted a kiss on her soft and fulsome lips.

  “Good morning,” she said. “Shall we get up?”

  “When I have had you once within my arms; is it ever enough?”

  “So you don’t want to get up then?”

  “If you give me another taste of your sweet beauty.”

  When they had finished thus expressing their love, Ifunka arose from the bed. Arwa led him to the bathroom where she bathed and dressed him in the manner of an obedient Tremna wife. They performed their kashroim prayers and, after Ifunka had placed the Verdant Coin in his pocket, they went to the parlour where Ffen, Shem and Ushwan were already eating breakfast served by Meyla—wish-root cakes with bauff-bee honey, hot gveg-leaf tea and ffentbaff-cheese.

  “Ifunka!” they exclaimed. “You’re back!”

  “Greetings, brothers,” he said amicably. “I have removed the Verdant Coin in order to show you that I am still myself. The coin enhances my power but I am myself.”

  “Dear brother,” said Ushwan. “We had thought you driven mad through that coin.”

  “What you see as madness, I see as necessity,” replied Ifunka. “Even as we speak, every living person in this city is a believer in the Great Spirit. Proper conversion to the Right Religion must follow, of course, but behold—not a follower of Asharru remains, and I am the acknowledged king.”

  “That’s just the thing, old boy,” said Ushwan. “It is one thing to promote true religion but why have you so aggrandized yourself?”

  “Amon-Ra told me that I have a great ancestry,” he explained. “He did not give me further information, but that is enough for me to know for now. Look, Ushwan, the Theocracy is an oppressive mockery of the Tamitvar’s teachings. Under the emperors and, before them, the High-Kings of Tremn, from Ishmael down to Gven Dakit, and from Emperors Kubba Gven to Kishton, Tremn was a vast and peaceful realm. I want to bring that back so that our children and our children’s children may enjoy untold prosperity and happiness, free from oppression and tyranny.”

  “I agree with you, Ifunka,” said Ffen, embracing his friend’s proposal. “I have thought a lot about it and I am with you to the end.”

  “Excellent,” Ifunka rejoiced. “Then you shall be my High Steward and Chancellor. You and your wives shall enjoy great prosperity for your loyalty to me. Shem, what think you?”

  “I do not condone what you are proposing as it is likely to lead to civil war and untold bloodshed.”

  “You have spilt blood, brother, and you’ve enjoyed it.”

  “How dare you!” Shem burst out in an unusual display of rage.

  “Calm yourself!” commanded Arwa. “Do not speak to my husband with disrespect.”

  “The woman speaks—in a gathering of men!” said Ushwan, half with amusement and half with distaste.

  “She is not an ordinary woman, Ushwan,” Ifunka defended her. “She is the Queen—remember that! No one may challenge her—even my Steward, Ffen, and my General, Tesh-Khan, must bow the knee before Arwa.”

  “I speak Tremni slowly and with an accent,” Arwa continued. “But I have a voice! I am the servant of my king but you are my servants. I wash his feet but you must wash the floor beneath my feet.”

  “Prideful nonsense!” Ushwan exclaimed. “Are we to endure such codswallop, old boy?”

  “Hold your tongue, Ushwan!” Ifunka commanded in regal tone. “I am your king! I will not punish you but it is evident that we must part ways for now. You may follow my army’s progress and we shall speak again when you have humbled yourselves. Come, Steward, let’s speak to Tesh-Khan.”

  “Yes, your Majesty,” said Ffen.

  Ushwan and Shem stared in disbelief as Ffen, Ifunka and Arwa left the room.

  “So much for brotherhood!” said Ushwan.

  “So much, indeed!” said Shem, who sighed.

  He beckoned Meyla over, who embraced and comforted the sensitive monk.

  Before leaving the house, Ifunka took the coin in hand and transformed into Plant Man, the rough green skin and viny hair taking over his body. Arwa looked at him in wonder, this being the first time she had seen him transform into the being. Outside the door, she found two guards posted, evidently at the command of Tesh-Khan. Ffen followed behind.

  “Who ordered this?” asked Plant Man.

  “By order of General Tesh-Khan, milord,” replied one of the guards in a thick Shaffi accent.

  “You shall address me from here on as ‘your Majesty’,” Plant Man ordered.

  “I apologise, your Majesty,” replied the guard, abashed.

  “This Tesh-Khan has assumed power,” Ffen remarked.

  “For now,” said Plant Man. “But he must answer to you, Ffen, as you are my High Steward and Chancellor.”

  As he departed from the house, the two guards followed behind them. They passed through the streets of Khanshaff to the cries and cheers of its denizens, who greeted their conqueror with great jubilation. He observed that the stones were clean of blood, the bodies of the slaughters having been carried away. The fire no longer burned in the ruined temple and the great ffaika’s body had been cut up into chunks and disposed of.

  “Yish lekht-ôn shffu min-ish (long live the king)!” the citizens cried in Shaffi as he passed.

  “Steward—make note: the people of Shaffnâ shall be taught Tremni in schools to be established through the Royal Treasury.”

  “Noted,” said Ffen, even though he had neither pen nor parchment to hand.

  His memory was at least as good as any other monk, and monks were trained to memorise numerous shiffgatvs of the Tamitvar and other documents. Ffen had memorised about half of the total of Votsku’s revelations. As they reached the central plaza of Khanshaff, they saw a vast army which choked the entire width and span of the area, and the surrounding thoroughfares—more than ten thousand soldiers kitted out in the garb of watchmen, carrying swords and axes. More than half, some six thousand, were mounted (three apiece) on large ffentbaffs, there being two thousand of these, while the other four thousand sat on the back of baggage and personnel carts pulled by another five hundred baggage ffentbaffs carrying eight soldiers apiece. These were smaller, adolescent ffentbaffs unsuited for the heat of battle. In addition, a large number of biffbaffs carried small loads of baggage, including extra food, tools, tents, and bedding.

  “They’ve already massed, your Majesty!” Ffen exclaimed.

  “Indeed, ready for their king to lead them!”

  “Make way for the king!” Ffen cried.

  Soldiers turned and bowed, the ffentbaffs groaning as they were brought to their knees. Tesh-Khan, at the centre of the mass rushed forward to meet his liege lord while beig-trumps, curled bronze instruments, sounded at his approach, and diffka-drums thundered. These were thin, round marching band drums used by the watchmen during their marches and drills. Tesh-Khan bowed on one knee as he came near.

  “All hail His Royal Majesty!” he cried.

  “All hail the king!” the army cried in Tremni.

  “I taught them that,” he said as Plant Man bade him rise.

  “You have done much in my absence,” said Plant Man.

  “Only in line with your commands, my lord,” replied Tesh-Khan, in awe of his master.

  “Very well, but be it known that I am the ultimate authority on this planet and, after me, Queen Arwa, and then my High Steward and Chancellor, Ffen of Ffash Valley.”

  “Understood, Your Majesty,” acknowledg
ed Tesh-Khan with a bow. “I shall serve them both and obey their orders.”

  “As you should,” said Plant Man with a glance of authority. “I shall now address the crowd. You may translate.”

  “As you wish, my lord.”

  Plant Man, Arwa and Ffen walked with dignity and aplomb as they approached the newly-repaired platform at the centre of the army. They ascended to address the crowd. The army cheered until, with his hands raised, they hushed to silence.

  “The entire city and all the villages of Shaffnâ are taken,” said Tesh-Khan.

  “Very good,” replied Plant Man. “Now I shall speak to the crowd.”

  As he raised his voice so that it could be heard and echo across the plaza, all were silent and attendant.

  “This is the beginning,” he began. “Of a new age—an age of kings, an age of piety, an age of justice!”

  “Fto ffônt-go… yundâ khelet-eym-ish—khelet yish-zen-eym, khelet nayat-go-yeym, khelet ffîl-go-yeym!” Tesh-Khan translated.

  “This is the beginning of a conquest that shall make the priests of Kubbawa shake with fear!”

  “Fto ffônt-go sift-go-yeym-ish kel deisht-ôn nash-ifft-îff predh-bara-zen Khubbâva-yeym khon-ish!”

  “We shall not stop; we shall not falter, until the whole of Tremnad falls before the march of this army—the Army of Plant Man!”

  “Ffâsh-ôn ftâkh kha khon-ish; baidh-ôn ftâkh kha khon-ish, dhô velôff-ôn akhav Temnâ-yeym dhôm-go makhô-fto-yeym-vôn-ish—Makhô Reym-Shaff-eym!”

  The crowd roared and then fell silent as he raised his hands to bequiet them.

  “Ignorance shall be swept away! Knowledge, science, technology and industry shall flourish!”

  “Shkhâ-yîm yoyn khakhôr-go khon-ish! Amutî-yôn khôr-go ffi khôrkhû ffi ftînâ ffi hultâ khon-ish.”

  “Theocrats shall be put to the sword and one king shall reign over all the land.”

  “Khufftemîff-îm teshleyân-paft-zen khon-ish ffi ardhê-yôn akhav nâ-reffû dhi yish khon-ish.”

  “This is the true glory of Tremn, which is one world under one sun—mighty Vukt—with one religion and one God—the Great Spirit.”

  “Fto yashffâ guft Tem-eym-ish, kel dhi areft dhi âma—haman Vûkht—dhi ralîshva-yifft ffi dhi Tesh-ifft—Khan Vabakh.”

  “Today, at noon, we shall begin our march through the density of Ffushkar, to Ffantplain, and then Ritvator, and finally Kubbawa itself—the heart of the theocracy.”

  “Khulfto, khulfaftîn, ftâkh-an dhôm ffônt-ôn khûzeff-go Shaffu-Meftadhnâ-fferâ-yeym ftâkh khon-ish, Ffamlayn-im ffi Riftator-im, ffi dakhtê, Khubbâva-mônî—ffamsh teshleyân-eym-shivt.”

  “There, we shall defeat the army of the High-Priest, Shawaku, destroy the theocratic government and I shall be crowned High-King of all Tremn! Praise the Great Spirit and all hail the King!”

  “Loft, makhô Ffeshû-Predh-bara-yeym, Shavâkhu, khôney-ôn ftâkh khon-ish ffi teshleyân yûgîff-ôn ffi Ffeshû-Yish akhav Tem-eym zelânîff-îm okh khon-ish! Khan Vabakh yôsh min-ish ffi akhav Yish hey min-ish!”

  The soldiers repeated his refrain with a roar so loud that it deafened the ears of all who heard it: “Khan Vabakh yôsh min-ish ffi akhav Yish hey min-ish (Praise the Great Spirit and all hail the King)!”

  Such an army, massed in one place, determined for victory and conquest, had not been seen in countless millennia upon the face of Tremnad. What existed on the smaller, unexplored continents of the planet, no one in the civilized world knew, but even these Plant Man intended to discover, colonise and subdue (or subdue and colonise, as the case may be). These may have been observed from above during the scientific heyday of Klet Patsipatveyeng (‘the Age of Emperors’), but they had never been visited or explored by the people of Tremnad, in line with imperial decree. So also had the wild tribes been allowed to proliferate across the east and extreme west of Tremnad—far too long for Plant Man’s liking. Beyond the Varome Sintva (the ‘White Mountains’) lay the realm of Nor within the Great Forest of Nor, itself sparsely populated and only vaguely within the authority of the theocracy, ruled over by the Great Lady of Nor, having in its midst the holy Tower of Inta and, beyond Nor, wild tribes of wandering nomads with strange languages, customs, and rituals, moving across rolling plains, perhaps even peopling the oases which are scattered across Matvakakan—the Great Emptiness that stretches from the Sea of Matvakakan to the River Metvura (called Methura in Vocatae) and south towards the southern border of Nor and the Isles of the Twenty Seas. Further north, the mysterious Isle of Offlising (Singoplic in Vocatae), lay silent to the world and outside the pale of theocratic dominion. The southern islands, those of the Twenty Seas to the southwest and the Twelve Seas to the southeast below Yatvegab, paid nominal tribute to the theocracy, while the scattered tribes in the extreme north of the Old Central Kingdom, bordering on Kodffil Lehiffavt (the ‘Frozen Sea’), and west beyond the provinces of Kraina and Yalaniuntva, on the Sea of Sogyishifa, roamed free, causing recurrent but slight annoyance and trouble to the Patriarchs of those provinces. Further south, the Great Desert of Yatvegab stretched on for hundreds of kobotvs, sparsely inhabited by exotic tribes of Bedouins who raided and plundered and traded from remote outposts and cities hidden within a realm of sand dunes, blasting heat and pounding sandstorms which had defied even the most ambitious conqueror; their peoples, shrouded in the mists of myth and legend, were far beyond the theocracy’s grasp. Yet Ifunka Kaffa’s imagination encompassed all of these lands and dominions; his ambition knew no limit and his vision no boundaries. One world, of the many worlds of the Great Spirit, under one king and, after him, his descendants, who would rule a kingdom that would stretch on and endure for eons, until such time as the Lord of the Worlds would wrap up Tremn like a scroll and burn the mountains to dust with exceeding heat, and the oceans dry up, and all be consumed in the fiery wrath of Vukt, the sun of his world.

  As he beheld his army amassed before him, he felt powerful, triumphant. All the humiliations of his life, all his pain and loss, faded away before this horde of brutal warriors, all armed and ready to hack and maim their enemies. He raised his arms to calm them and bestill their raging enthusiasm. Tesh-Khan then took over, preparing them for their imminent march—a march that would need to end in the conquest of all that came in their path. Plant Man turned to his wife as they walked through the crowd towards an emerald-green tent that had been put aside for him and his companions at the edge of the plaza.

  “Have you ever seen your people so enthused?” he asked her.

  “Never, my love. We have been as if in a dream, but you have woken us up!”

  “Your Majesty,” Ffen thus addressed him. “How shall our armies match up against the Theocracy?”

  “The Theocracy is weak; soft with much complaisance. What does their army fight—wild tribesmen on the frontiers of Kraina and Yalaniuntva? We have a mission—a goal. What do they have?”

  “I estimate that the Theocracy has about twelve thousand regular troops, based on what I have read. But each city has a city guard proportionate to its size, and the Theocracy could raise a hundred thousand troops if it so wishes. Ffantplain is a city of about twenty-five thousand inhabitants. As such, it must have a guard of around one thousand and perhaps twice as many reserves.”

  “Once we have conquered the city,” Plant Man replied. “We shall enlist its men, just as we have enlisted these Shaffu. We shall be unstoppable.”

  “Very well,” said Ffen. “And what shall we do with Shem and Ushwan?”

  “They may follow us to Kubbawa. I imagine they’ll have changed their minds once the Theocracy has toppled to dust.

  Tesh-Khan entered the tent.

  “All the preparations are underway, your Majesty,” he reported. “We will be ready to march on schedule.”

  “Excellent,” replied Plant Man. “Ffen, I have a special task for you. You are to go with t
he General and meet with his commanders—you have selected commanders and lieutenants, haven’t you”—Tesh-Khan nodded—“And teach them the Testimony of Faith. They will then teach it to their subordinates and so on. I want the whole army to embrace the Right Religion before we march; otherwise, their souls shall be imperilled should any of them die in battle.”

  “Very well, your Majesty,” said Ffen as the two of them left the tent.

  Plant Man remained alone with Arwa; he sat on a polished wooden chair with a rattan back while she sat on one beside him. He held her hand gently and she squeezed his.

  “The others don’t see your eyes,” she said. He turned to her.

  “My eyes?”

  “You’re sad.”

  “Sad?” He frowned.

  “You still feel the pain of your uncle and your aunt’s death.”

  “I do feel it,” he replied. “It is always with me; all the pain and tribulation of my life is with me. That you see it surprises me; I have bottled it all up deep within my soul.”

  “You cannot bottle up such fierce emotion. It will bleed out and then explode.”

  “Whatever wrath you see me evince,” he reassured her. “It shall never be directed at you, my sweet gebnav-rose. You are more precious to me than my own self. I desire to see a crown on your head more than I do on my own. Great Spirit be praised! You are the greatest bounty in my life. Without you, I would only see blackness and despair on every horizon. You are my inspiration—my hope!”

  “You have given me something to love and to dream for,” she replied in kind. “For whatever you do, my heart belongs to you.”