He found the cool kids sitting in the middle of the cafeteria. He walked over, preparing to tell them about how his house burned down. He hoped that would be a interesting segway from politics. He found an open seat across from Rhiona who was twirling her purple hair and laughing at something. He set his tray on the table and sat down.
The talking stopped.
The ramblings of the cafeteria turned to an awkward whisper like someone had turned off a large faucet. He heard the squeals of ladles scraping against burnt pans decrease to soft scratches. Ethan looked around the room. The sound of dropping plastic utensils echoed like a distant hurricane.
Over a hundred pairs of wide eyes drilled into Ethan. Every stare poked another fearful hole into his paper ego. They didn’t move, he couldn’t tell if they were breathing. It was like looking into a sea of mannequins. The room was frigid. Rhiona had paused with her fork partway to her mouth, nervously peering at him in disbelief.
“What?”
One of the boys at Rhiona’s table, wearing a skull cap and gutter punk jeans, stood up, “Whoa man, we don’t need any trouble. Just walk the other way.”
“Yeah,” another student yelled. “You need to leave!”
“I don’t understand,” Ethan said casually.
How do they know?!
A jock named Arnie walked over to Ethan. He once had put Ethan in a reverse headlock to impress a cheerleader. Ethan ducked his head to hide his neck. Arnie took out his wallet and placed it on the table.
“You can have it! Just go!”
“What?” Ethan stuttered, looking up at the burly mass.
He looked over at Rhiona, still holding her fork, he noticed her eyes never blinked.
“Rhiona, what’s the matter?”
She dropped her fork and burst into horrible blood-curdling screams. They rang throughout the cafeteria in seismic waves. A boy from Rhiona’s table dragged her away.
“You’re dangerous, Ethan! Just go away!”
“It’s not my fault,” he pleaded as he stood up. “The old lady was in front of my car!”
Ethan couldn’t take it anymore, he had to leave. Panic gripped his chest and dispersed like venom. As he ran out of the cafeteria, he started to get angry. He stumbled into a locker and punched it. Every facet of his life was crumbling around him. He jetted down the crowded hallway and briefly noticed how his classmates dove out of his way as he ran. He was so angry that he tried to kick a trash can that rolled into his way. However, his aim was off, but the force of his kick made him fall backwards onto his back. He landed on his hand, and it started to burn as if it was laughing at him.
He pounded his fist on the ground.
“This isn’t real! I didn’t ask for this! Wake up! Wake up!”
Ethan felt tears ready to burst like a dam, he buried his head in his shaking palms.
“What isn’t real?”
Ethan looked up to see an angelic woman with cascading flames of hair. She gazed down at him with fiery emerald eyes. Light brown freckles flared against her face like copper stars. She was as mystical as a mirage, like someone had returned light to a dark forest.
“What isn’t real?” She repeated, furrowing her brow.
Ethan sat up and smiled at her, not knowing why. He only had two smiles, one for receiving presents, and one for recognizing a friend. This was neither, but it felt pleasant.
“Uh, hi,” he said, standing up.
“You were saying something. It sounded important.”
“Oh, that was nothing.” Ethan laughed sheepishly. “So, I haven’t seen you around here before! Are you a new student or something?” He congratulated himself for such a good recovery amidst the awkward introductions.
She looked up as if she could find the answer on her forehead. “I don’t really know where I am, but I do have an apartment.”
“You have an apartment?! How old are you?” Ethan felt the glass wall grow between them.
“Once again, good question. As far as I can remember, I am at least five. That is what they tell me.”
Ethan laughed, even though he wasn’t sure he was supposed to. He hazarded a guess that she was a foreign exchange student living with a host family. But if she had an apartment, maybe she had really rich parents who let her live by herself. He wondered how the foreign students felt when they landed in Litchfield. He assumed their parents thought their kids would get the “big city American experience,” but instead find that America is mostly pastures and endless marshes. This poor girl was in the most boring town in the western world. Ethan had heard stories that Scandinavian countries only sent tall, ravishing women with charm and charisma. The sight of her polished clothing and poised demeanor confirmed it.
“My name is Kioko,” she announced. “I am pleased to meet you.”
Ethan smiled again and got up. They began walking together towards the bus loop where the concrete sidewalk of the school joined to the parking lot. It seemed strangely empty.
“I’m Ethan,” he said. “It’s funny, my last name rhymes with your first name. My last name’s Mioko. I think it’s strange, but my parents tell me a famous painter from Japan also has it.”
“Mioko, Kioko,” she said playfully. “Would that make us married, maybe not in this culture, but in another culture?”
He smiled at that idea. “I don’t know. I would at least have to buy that person lunch before I married them.”
“You like lunch?” She clapped excitedly. “I love lunch! Have you ever had salad with salmon in it?”
He shook his head, trying to control his gag reflex.
“It’s so good!” Kioko swooned.
Kioko glanced over to Ethan and noticed him nervously thumbing his hand. She looked closer and noticed the mark. She stopped abruptly.
“Where did you get that?!” she asked, grabbing his hand.
Her soft fingers reached like a vice grip around his throbbing hand. The hand instantly began to burn and Ethan’s eyes watered. Kioko felt a shock in her hand as if the black "X" stung her. She dropped Ethan’s hand and he apologized.
“It’s a long story.” Ethan winced.
She sat down on the curb. The buses wouldn’t arrive for at least another hour.
“Do tell.”
Ethan told her the horrific story of the old lady getting hit, crashing vehicles, no licenses, and almost drowning in the shower. It felt like hours to fully explain how much he wanted his license. It seemed natural to spill everything to his new friend. He wanted to tell her about how accomplished he was, but instead he told her his recent misfortunes. When he was finished, Kioko had a sad puppy face that seemed to melt the boy’s very bad day away.
“You poor fellow,” Kioko said, touching his shoulder. “I’m sure not all cars and old ladies are evil. Proper shower technique is essential, too! It took me awhile to understand the practices.”
“That’s the thing,” Ethan continued. “What are the odds that my life would go so horribly? I mean, they have to be pretty staggering for your life go into chaos in one day!”
He shook his head at the pavement. He needed a distraction from his inner turmoil.
“I hope your experience here has been better than mine.”
Kioko laughed and told him about how she had visited Litchfield five years before and fell in love with its mini malls. She gushed about her love of fine art and cubism pieces by Picasso. Her stories seemed to be centered on purchases and material distractions, but she spoke of them with real conviction and purpose. Ethan struggled to follow her words.
“My socks don’t match,” she stated, lifting the bottom of her jeans. “I am trying to accessorize a color scheme of pinks, blues, reds, and greens. I think that really brings out my true color spectrum.”
Ethan hung onto every word she said, even though none of it made sense.
She suddenly slapped his shoulder. “Hey, I’ve heard about you!”
“You have?” he questioned. “But I’ve never seen you before.”
“I was talking to some of your classmates earlier, and boy, are they afraid of you!”
“Afraid? That’s dumb.”
“I don’t know, but I have a few hunches about it.”
He looked earnestly into her emerald eyes. “You’re not afraid of me?”
“If you want, I can be. But no, I am not.” She shrugged her shoulders. “You seem like a freshly face and I like the words you speak. They are rich with flavor and meaning—it’s almost like you are important or something.”
Ethan tried to hide his beaming smile as he sat there. He could tell Kioko was foreign by how she spoke to him, but loved how the words she used made sense enough to hold a conversation. He started daydreaming about her as his new lunch friend. Not having a license didn’t seem so bad now. He barely noticed that she excused herself from the conversation and was now on her way to ogle at a new summer line of dresses at the mall.
“Who was that?” he asked himself.
He watched her prance away and released a large exaggerated sigh before lying sprawled out on the asphalt. He couldn’t tell what it was, but Kioko had a way with him. He replayed every word and smile like a Valentine’s Day carousel. He guessed it was just hormones—annoying, wonderful hormones. He imagined future conversations with her, complimenting their jokes, and telling each other great stories until they couldn’t stay awake.
Ethan forgot he was still sitting on the sidewalk until his hand started to burn.
He looked up to see a big yellow monster quickly racing towards him, blotting out the sunlight. He was hit by the smell of burning rubber as the brakes squealed milliseconds away from crushing his head.
Not again!
“Burn, Burn, Burn!
The curse has found your hand!
Doom, Doom, Doom!
You’re forbidden from the land!
Dark, Dark, Dark!
Your time dwindles like the sand!"
– A Phaenix Sprout Rhyme
IV : The Taming of the Troll
Unbeknownst to Ethan, the Earth’s oceans were a border between two worlds that veiled his reality. Another plane of life subsisted, hidden behind his universe’s paper thin atmosphere. This counter-existence transcended the human senses through a connection between spirit, light, and ethereal sciences. Though many on Earth misunderstood this dimension as a metaphor for mysticism, the ancient world of Magi proved its purpose under its own laws, physics, and religion.
One of its sovereign nations was Faeria, a peninsula speckled with dense forests atop endless carpets of sleek plateaus. The sky had a covenant with the land so that the clouds never blocked the nourishing rays of the sun. Continual warmth and cool breezes were the only seasons experienced in Faeria. Every morning was greeted with soft mists of dew and the night was never cold enough for a Phaenix to need a blanket. Flora grew high, animals raised their young in safety, and natural underground aquifers sustained the surrounding ecosystem. Sugarwine apples, crystal pods, and leafy vegetables grew in surplus to be enjoyed by both civilian and animal life. River veins pulsed through diverse areas connecting the mainland to six other countries. Few nations in Magi had blessings of such a rich land like Faeria. It also proved to be the most vile place a Bangorian troll could live.
The nation of Bangor was a gray swamp of mud and molten rock that would spit from volcanic geysers. The heat alone could suck the moisture out of any creature, if not for the raging humidity. Sulfuric clouds masked the sun and dominated the whole sky in wafts of sulfur. The inhabitants of Bangor practically needed blades to cut through the thick walls of stale air as they roamed. Wild vines intertwined around lamenting trees and nightly frosts suffocated the yellowing grasses. Gheckle beasts and furrels were forced to find shelter at a moment’s notice which significantly dropped the availability of food for the locals.
The Bangorian generals still had the taste of bitter resentment in their mouths toward the citizens of Faeria. Most of the government officials were part of the Kalhari warriors, a sect of trolls from Bangor that truly believed Faeria was unworthy to exist. They declared an invasion of Faeria and sent their militia, the Kalhari, to infiltrate the country like a virus. Many trolls in Bangor disagreed with the invasion and potential genocide as the correct path. But the Kalhari were already on their way four days prior to the announcement. They had already incinerated the Faerian borders with enough firepower to reduce the hills to rubble.
The marching trolls didn’t have time to waste, but started to struggle as they entered the forest. Every putrid inch of the soft red dirt flourished with vibrant flowers, poisoning their lungs with scents too sweet for their snouts. The sweetness of the air and purity of the water made the Kalhari mad with disgust. This tortuous biome grew trees that towered above them. The trees wavered like disapproving giants, reminding the Kalhari that they were far from their marshy home. A trail of ashes and fiery destruction was their only comfort. They traveled onward. Faeria needed to be extinguished.
“How long ‘til we burn this place?” Ashen, a Kalhari general, called from the back. His troops grunted in reaction.
The Kalhari had thick fur that didn’t adapt well to the arid biome of the Phaenix forests. Ashen and his brethren were tall, viciously muscular, with clawed hands that had no problem cutting through the flesh of animals. Harpoon-like tails swung from their hindquarters for balance and agility, but which could also easily break the bones of their enemies. Exposed canine teeth shone from under their leathery skin in the golden sunlight sneaking through the trees. Doebeasts scurried toward the horizon while spider larks furiously crawled up the trees to safety.
The calm of the forest proved to be the most difficult part for Ashen and his men. The other two senior generals, in charge of the strategic dispersion, were waiting for Prince Fragile, who had the final command. He seemed to be dragging his heels since they had entered the forest. Speculations arose among the men that the prince changed his position on the invasion or was sympathetic to the Phaenix. They knew he was heavily receptive with the Kalhari god Avero. They feared a bad omen from the god could stop their attack.
A hunched troll, Urk, went up to one of his fellow generals that led the troops. He was a new general in charge of torture and disposal of enemy captives. His claws were disproportionate for his height and dug into the ground as he teetered along. Despite his small stature, not a single soldier made jest of his awkward gait for fear of his brutal reputation. He was known as a predator, preferring to charge enemies like a rabid chimpanzee.
He had been recently recruited from a prison in Bangor after inciting a riot. During that event, he bit off a prison guard’s nose and held other wardens hostage for later dismemberment. His vile methods of torture impressed the prince, who pardoned his charges in exchange for military service.
“We haven’t burned a single tree yet, Urk,” Ashen complained. “Why in the world have we not yet lit our torches?”
Urk showed his sharp fangs in a smile that looked more ravenous than happy.
“These trees make me sick,” he slithered, flicking his forked tongue for emphasis. “I want to vomit, but it would turn to flowers. It won’t be much longer now.”
Each segment of troops carried an assortment of archers, brawlers, battle artists, and beast riders, snaking through the woods hunting for a neck to bite. Ashen continued to walk and noticed his troops in front were slowing down. His muscles clenched under his metal armor, now stained with perspiration from his knotty long braids. He gritted his teeth as he worried about the ever-decreasing morale. When the battle first erupted, his overlord had shown no restraint in burning the whole East down. It was his joy to watch the Phaenix and their land suffer. Now, it seemed General Fragile had halted his path of destruction. Still, the Kalhari continued trudging through the nightmarishly clean brooks, soft land, and bright trees in hopes of destroying them soon. They were at the last stretch of the great forests and would soon meet their enemy in Faeria – the wretched Phaenix.
“Se
ven thousand fighting trolls—our presence could destroy this country in a blink! Why aren’t we going for the kill?” a soldier commented.
Ashen’s white broadsword clung to his back, patting him to the beat of his footsteps. He fondly remembered the last village he cleared out. The screams of families and Readying House students coupled with watching their houses burn to the ground was purely symphonic. Any Phaenix that tried to flee was immediately pinned down with an arrow to their wing.
“Are my trolls slacking?” Prince Fragile demanded.
The boisterous talk of the troops instantly quieted to a hum.
Ashen bustled towards a flapping red cape at the center of the procession. The prince’s cape was fastened to his collar, and he wore golden-plated armor lined with animal bones. He had a silver beard, groomed to precision, and a scar over his left eye from a skirmish he had with his younger brother in years past. He was the mastermind behind the massive invasion. Only the bravest of trolls could describe him as an upright slab of grisly meat. However, his rotund figure suggested he had avoided the physical training in lieu of strategic planning and extravagant meals.
“Commander,” Ashen demanded, “we’ve been walking for four days in this miserable forest! Our caravans in the back are slowing down and our men are losing faith. I ask at your mercy, why are we holding back?”
Fragile paused, raising an authoritative eyebrow.
“Are you not happy with my command?” he questioned gruffly.
Urk gulped.
Ashen waved his arms, “Oh no, sir! I have no doubt that you will be our fair king of this land—”
Prince Fragile cut in, “Then it is your impatience that makes you want to speak out like this. It is not my commanding that causes you to grumble, but the sin of your flesh. What have I done, General Ashen, that you would bring your doubt to my door?”
The Boy and His Curse Page 4