“As far as holy orders,” he turned toward Trenton, “if the Daysun was punishing us, I doubt highly he would use a tool that would kill us all before we had time to repent. At this rate, they will be at the North Gate in three days.”
Trenton put up a finger. “But, Command—”
“If you are going to give ‘the Daysun always wins our fights’ speech, then I should point out that this is clearly not the same situation. No enemy has ever gotten this deep into Faeria! No creature has been successful with this level of destruction.” Budgeron fumed, “If it was solely up to me, I would send every able-bodied soldier into the forest right now to wipe that smile off their face! But we must not engage the enemy in our villages. None of our scouts have confirmed what we are dealing with yet. If we were to show up with the wrong strategy and weak armaments, we could lose a lot of good soldiers to ignorance and blind rage.”
The scar-faced Phaenix squirmed uncomfortably in his chair. “I’m trying to look out for us in the long run. If the other nations see us as morally immaculate beings they will give us more honor! Unnecessary war would be dirty and messy, especially if we can convince the Kalhari to adopt our way of life.”
“Our deacons and deaconesses have not prophesied a victory,” the stern-browed Phaenix added. “The Daysun has always assured us of victory and yet remains silent.”
Budgeron looked at the marble walls dedicated to portraits of past wars. He saw depictions of how the Phaenix defeated the Rasgorovs, the Elfins, and even thwarted the mighty Darken. These nations once thought they had the power to kill off the Phaenix; however, they became extinct or weakened enough to be forgotten. Budgeron sat back in his white wooden chair.
The door opened.
The three of war leaders rose from the table to display their wings in respect. The Queen stood before her loyal subjects briefly to acknowledge them.
She turned to Budgeron and said softly, “Tell me it isn’t horrible.”
The Queen had witnessed many warring years during her reign. Her ordained leadership allowed Faeria to thrive in celebration of numerous victories. She had reached an experienced age through her wisdom, and stood as a vibrant aura. Her presence spoke volumes; there was no indication of what this impending loss would entail for her nation.
She wore a simple white tunic in place of her royal gown of golden silk. Her long silver hair was tied loosely with a purple vine from her garden. It was an unfamiliar sight to her advisers, who noticed that even her dignified strides had been replaced with slow steps to her seat.
Light sparkled from the stained glass ceiling as she sat down. The colorful beams reflected off of her face and illuminated the roadmap of her subtle aging. She was a flickering lantern and the fire in her eyes was fading with grief. She wasn’t prepared for a war like this.
Budgeron was startled by her surrendering question. He cleared his throat and began relaying the exhaustive report from one of his recon soldiers.
“Your Majesty,” he replied lowly, “they are marching toward us with strengthened resolve. Most of the East has been taken. Their number of troops is somewhere in the thousands and their military weaponry outranks ours.”
“The Kalhari have hated us since the beginning of our age,” the Queen stated. “Has the practice of ignorance kept our history from preparing us?”
Greeves raised a finger again. “Our history of winning battles has kept the Kalhari at bay. We always thought we held that intimidation over them. Someone apparently has the dark heart to try anyway and they succeeded.”
The Queen stared, dumbfounded, at Greeves before speaking.
“Do you mean to tell me that our entire defense system was based on an idea that we were ‘scary?’” The Queen sighed deeply.
“My Liege,” Budgeron interjected, “Faeria awaits your command. The North and West need your assurance that the Kalhari will be stopped!”
She pierced Budgeron’s gaze. “This land was a given promise by the Daysun. I was chosen through ancient lineages and scriptural covenants to reign as Queen. I uphold the sacredness of Faeria!”
The Queen’s fire has awoken.
“But there has been no prophecy of forthcoming victory!” Trenton interjected.
“And our findings show we are severely outnumbered,” Greeves reminded the group.
The Queen’s eyes narrowed and a flush of color returned to her soft skin. She fiercely slammed both of her palms on the table and stood up.
“Despite these setbacks,” she warned, “we need to take action against this threat— not sit on the sidelines, hoping the trolls go home! Budgeron!”
Budgeron perked with enthusiasm, “Yes, my Liege!”
“Send all our spies,” she ordered. “I want every known route and direction these crawlies are headed! By the time they reach the Driftspace, we need to be prepared and ready!”
Budgeron extended his wings in salute and left to carry out her order.
The Queen eyed the other advisers. “The rest of you, I want the community involved in this,” she stated, doubting their competence. “I do not approve of running around like maddened rootbugs. We will fight, without question, until our cosmic lord tells us to stop!”
The last of her fire left her tongue and the two advisers scuffled out of the room. She was alone in the marble room, gazing at a painting of herself when she was majestic and young.
“Daysun have mercy.”
*****
A funnel of flashing lights disappeared into an endless backdrop of darkness. The blurring of neon blues rushed past Ethan as if a carnival ride and a blender were holding hands. Caitilin had neglected to mention that entering the gateway would feel like his esophagus was trying to escape through his little toe. He couldn’t breathe from the pain; he wanted to scream! He succumbed to the rush of the portal as it inverted and sucked out his guts.
The long trails of cerulean and periwinkle ended abruptly with a blinding light and a speeding halt. Ethan gasped at the swift wind defogging into an aerial view of trees and carpeting grasses. Green and brown patches formed into an ever-growing wall. Sound waves of hollers escaped him as he fell into a new world. His ears rang on impact. His head snapped back and his body jerked upward as if something grabbed his foot. He hung helplessly in the air, his head inches off the ground, dangling above the wavering surface.
“Isn’t it beautiful?” Caitlin exclaimed, smiling. She let go of his leg. “This is my home: the beloved Faeria, given to the Phaenix by the Daysun. My grievances, I tried to catch you sooner.”
“I think I left my kidney back there,” Ethan muttered as he hugged the ground.
Caitilin stared into the horizon.
Ethan laid back onto the grass and waved his arms.
“Everything feels so soft and fresh,” Ethan commented. “I feel like I’m in a toilet paper commercial!”
“Yes, this is a splendid world,” Caitlin reminisced. Her tone quickly changed to one of concern. “But we need to hurry. You carry a curse that is still very active! We need to see the high priest—only he can help you.”
Ethan popped up urgently from the grass. “High priest?” he protested. “I’m not a religious person! You need to know that, Caitilin. This guy can’t make me pray and believe in a ‘day sponge!’”
She ground her toe in the dirt.
After all this, he still does not believe.
“Ethan,” Caitilin replied gently, “I believe that your views on our faith are not serious. However, it would be wise for you to let me do the communicating. There are people here who are not willing to welcome you with fruit flowers and happy kisses. You need to stay by me and keep your mouth firmly sealed.”
“What are they going to do?” He dropped his shoulders in surrender. “Hurt me?”
“Maybe,” she smiled sadly. “You are not supposed to be here.”
“Really?”
“Earthians, your kind, were banned from Faeria many cycles ago,” Caitilin explained painfully. “They were w
elcome until a decision was made not to ever let one in again! It was during a time when your world was collapsing: The Second Great War. Friendly Germans asked for our aid; however, we were not obliged to offer our assistance to one specific group. We were outraged by what we saw of their cause! If any human can do that to its own people, then Faeria wants no part of it.”
“Do people know about this?” Ethan asked, amazed.
“Yes, but they are old and their memory is fading.” Caitilin continued, as if reciting from a textbook, “We are only allowed to enter Earth for medical or clerical reasons. We have deemed that you need the help of a more advanced race to survive. You start wars, break contracts, and disregard faith as if it were a piece of paper. Humans are like wingless Phaenix that need continuous care.”
Ethan cringed at her conviction.
“It is against Dhal code to bring you back here,” Caitilin sighed. “But you have a curse and I made a promise to myself during my deaconess training. I swore I would help every pitiful Earthian no matter which slimy, disgusting disease they suffered! You have got it the worst than anyone and that is why you need the high priest.”
“Pitiful?” Ethan stomped on the ground. “My world has done more with science and technology than this world. All I see are trees. It seems like this world could learn a few things about colonization, urbanization, and medic—”
She put her hand over his mouth sternly. “As I said, you need to keep your mouth sealed. Do you want to be helped?”
He nodded with her hand still over his mouth.
“Then follow me.”
As they went deep into the woods, Ethan began noticing how different this world was. He spotted a three-eyed mole had crawled out of the dirt. It blinked at him in confusion and Ethan did the same. They stumbled upon a nest resting around a tree. Ethan pointed at it and froze when an enormous butterfly rose out of it. It hissed at him and batted its yellow, spotted wings in defense. Caitilin told him to put his finger down and carefully explained that he had just challenged the monstrous butterfly to a territorial battle. They continued walking.
Caitilin shared information at every unique tree and opportunity. She pointed out particular red mosses that could grow into tasty mushrooms. Ethan was awed when she showed him the tree and root dwellings of the locals. Caitilin burst in excitement as they came closer to a garden that was heavily guarded by metal wires.
“Why is this so protected?” Ethan asked. “It’s just carrots.”
“This is a female garden,” Caitilin gushed. “This is where our children grow!”
“Wait.” Ethan scratched his head. “Your children grow—from the ground?”
“Our procreation rituals are different from yours,” she explained, blushing slightly. “Yours involves two people, of opposite sex, joining together to complete….”
“Whoa! Whoa!” Ethan shouted, backing off with his hands in the air. “I know what you’re talking about!”
“Anyways,” she snickered. “Ours only involves the female. She already has seeds placed from birth. They develop inside of her until she no longer breathes the breath of life. Then she is buried and her children grow from her remains.”
“That’s morbid,” Ethan mumbled. “That means you’ve never seen your mother. Since she was already dead when you were born—I mean sprouted.”
“That is accurate,” she nodded. “Usually, offspring are given to Readying Houses to learn their trade. We do not have parents in the same way as your people. Very few have a paternal unit. A father is rarely alive for a sprouting of a Phaenix child.”
Ethan didn’t want to tell her, but her story sounded like growing a vegetable rather than having a baby. They moved on.
“If one were to look from the clouds,” Caitlin explained. “The Magi lands we live on resemble a giant bird. Faeria is the bill, jutting out toward the endless oceans that surround it. The rest of the bird is a head, a neck, a torso, a wing, and a foot. While most inhabitants of the Magi were content in their part of the bird: farming, ruling, praying, and reproducing, sometimes a neighbor will challenge us for our land. We have had some hostilities with the Bangor civilians.”
They saw a crystal clear brook and Ethan admitted that there was no water on Earth that clear. Caitilin explained that the water in Faeria was drinkable from any source. Everything about this place seemed perfect to Ethan, but he didn’t want to admit it. Even the glowing light wafting through the trees was shinier and softer than in his world. This planet was a fresh expanse of vivid life. Nothing had tarnished it and the system thrived in beauty. Of course, it wouldn’t hurt to have a coffee shop or bakery every few acres, but there wasn’t much room for improvement. Everything seemed peaceful, until Ethan walked by a small, green prickly plant that brushed his cursed hand. He shrieked at the burning sensation sending shockwaves throughout his body.
“Why are you stopping?” Caitilin asked, turning around. She saw Ethan on the ground. He was frantically burying cool dirt on his hand.
“Why does it hurt so much?” he shouted rhetorically.
She ran over to him. The ground opened under his legs and caved in. He fell in a hole, vanishing into the darkness, screaming all the way.
“Ethan!” She cried.
Ethan felt every rock bang against his body as he fell in the pit. Finally, with a loud crack, his body found the ground. It was a dark place and nothing could be seen. Everywhere around him, as far as he could tell, was mud and musty air. He had been swallowed by a grave.
He felt around. “Caitilin?”
No answer. His voice echoed eerily.
His hands felt loose sod, weird roots, and damp spots. His body felt like it had been a tester for baseball bats. Every joint was damp and hurt. He kept moving.
“Caitilin,” he called again.
He remembered what Caitilin said about the curse trying to kill him constantly. Inch by inch, he kept crawling along on all fours, wondering what else the curse had in store for him. The whole cave could crush him and he would have a mouth full of mud: death by asphyxiation. His mind vividly played out every death imaginable.
His body found an incline and he started to move upward. Then he saw it—a small patch of light. The incline was leading him to salvation. He crawled up the hill. When he got to the top, he tunneled out in victory to the daylight. The spiky grass welcomed him back to life above ground.
He saw mammoth trees, dirt trails, the flashing feathers of strange birds, and exotic plants, but no Caitilin. He yelled her name, but heard no answer. Then another creature came to him. A large wad of tightly wound red blankets was coming towards him. As it came closer, it took on the resemblance of a razorback swine. Two canine teeth protruded from its upper lip that stood symmetrical to the bushy brown hair on its back. It had small talon feet waddling around the forest moving its large snout toward food.
“Hello,” Ethan said, unsure if the animal was docile or not. He had petted animals similar to this in a zoo. He came closer.
The beast turned its attention to him. The swine wanted to smell him and analyze what the boy was—food or danger. Using its nose, the animal made a trail to the boy until it found his pants and elaborately sniffed them. He touched the cold, red skin of the hog; it continued to investigate while he tried to make peace with it.
His hand started to burn. Ethan glanced at the now bared teeth of the animal and took off. Death by sharp teeth thundered and squealed behind him as he ran past unfamiliar trees. The pig wanted that boy and his precious pink meat.
Ethan didn’t stop running. He was going to haul through the forest to try to gain as much distance between him and the angry pig of death. The hog stayed on his heels. Every time he looked back, he saw its murderous eyes and mouth dripping with drool.
Through a forest clearing ahead Ethan saw a ravine gap about five feet across. If Ethan could jump over it, perhaps the hog would fall into the steep gully. It was a perfect plan. Ethan drove all of his fear into his legs and gunned for the ravin
e. With the mighty force of terrified energy, he leapt with power over the opening.
Ethan thought he had this one figured out, until a tree unexpectedly toppled over the ledge and smashed into him. His curse laughed at him. The tree fell and tackled him into the ravine. The red hog found its way into the ravine and swam toward Ethan. It growled and showed as many teeth as it could. Ethan saw his scared reflection in the hog’s fiery eyes. The hog edged closer.
“You did this!” he screamed at his cursed hand.
He focused on a curved object between his fingers: a silver hatchet. He picked it up and pointed it at the pig beast. Weaponry wasn’t in Ethan’s repertoire of survival skills. He couldn’t swing a bat in baseball much less wield a weapon. His hands shook violently as he tried to aim for its face.
The hog charged forward with its talons outstretched. Ethan brought the axe back by his head and wound up for the swing. He shut his eyes. The hog squealed and toppled over, the crash reverberated through the woods. The swine wallowed in pain.
Ethan opened his eyes and saw a hatchet embedded in its side. A trail of blood oozed. The hog shuddered for a brief moment and went still. Ethan looked at his hand; he hadn’t let go of his axe. The axe in the hog was bigger and the handle was made of leather and engraved metal. Ethan pushed himself up. A dark figure blotted out the light peering through the trees. The figure saw the strange boy, holding the axe with the dreadful curse on his hand.
The stranger unsheathed his sword.
SEE THE PRESTIGE AND GLORY OF FAERIA’S ARMY
The Protectors of the Homeland,
Making a one-time appearance in The Eastern Woods Arena.
Sprouts are encouraged to meet their favorite warrior!
The Boy and His Curse Page 6