Ethan saw the monster staring at him and yelped. He dove back to the ground.
Caitilin grabbed his shoulder. “No, no, no. It can’t hurt you.”
The monster was there, five steps away from him. It was ready to charge and kill; stuck with its tentacles raised high. Why would Caitilin be excited about this? He realized that she was not scurrying for protection and took a second glance.
The Octaflaught was frozen in mid-air. It could not move its eyes. The beast frustratedly struggled within a ball of immobile force.
Caitilin pointed with a grin to another friend she knew very well. He arrived through the forest clearing with his hands outstretched. An older Phaenix, graying with light skin, his hair was cotton white and unkempt, shooting in every direction.A soft carpet of beard hedged his face.
He patted on the Octaflaught’s hide and laughed.
With the simplest flick of his wrist, he shot the Octaflaught into the air and it flew away in a scurry. His brow turned stern to Caitilin.
“Wanichi Cait’ln,” he said formally.
She bowed in respect.
The stranger looked over in Ethan’s direction, his firm expression never changing. “We have a lot to talk about, Caitilin.”
“In Bangor, East of Faeria, you have the trolls. The Kalhari race. They are savage monkey half-wits. Further east you have the Elfins. Drunkards and goof wits. Further down you have the pagan and vile Wolfian shepherds, the asylum of Nivite people, the good-for-nothing Perkian guild and the cruelty of the Darken.”
– A Guide to the Seven Races of the Magi (as told by the Phaenix)
VIII: Kalhari Crimes
The smell of burning leaves was enough to make any Phaenix become violently ill, but the Kalhari were reminded of their swamp. They loved every bit of the smoldering wasteland they were creating.
Every tree was an ash heap, thick with intoxicating fumes, while the ground was burnt and dying from the smoky remains. The flowers were choking on the Kalhari presence. To add to the smoke, the trolls built large fire pits to light their camps. Thick doebeast fat was burning in the torches. They constructed high stone towers where warriors were instructed to watch for Phaenix. The more creative trolls had found a way to use the dead Phaenix wings as decorative mats for their tents, while others made war skirts for their stumpy legs. No longer were the Kalhari overshadowed by the flowery people and no longer would they be forced to live in a cramped kingdom while the Phaenix lived on such expansive lands.
Inside a large caribou-skin tent, General Fragile sat at a wooden table looking at his faithful generals. There was Ashen; good, strong, dependable Ashen. He never strayed from Fragile’s side and he would march ‘til death for that troll.He could out spar any fighter with his sword, which made Fragile all the more appreciative. He had heard of one particular Phaenix equally as strong and gifted in the art of war, and bided his time to pair Ashen with the Phaenix.
Next was Urk, who, at the moment, was talking about what he would do if he ever got a Phaenix skin coat. Urk was the perfect combination of mental sickness and masterful spontaneity. He could design elaborate battle strategies and in the same breath talk about eating a Phaenix’s liver.
Fragile saw General Kashun and his mood dampened. His younger brother was a genius in the skills of artistry. He could create tornadoes of fire and conjure waves of water, but he had one flaw as a general: Kashun would not hesitate to stick his dagger into Fragile. Fragile knew that the younger troll still resented that his father had given Fragile the title of head general. When Fragile had annihilated every Phaenix, he would be crowned king of this new land, and that would be a problem for Kashun.
Fragile chugged back a pewter mug of black rum he had been saving and slammed it down on the table. Wiping the spittle off of his gray beard, he looked at his trolls with hungry eyes.
“Tonight we dine with victory on our shoulders. We have slain the Perkian forest animals, those creatures of the woods that resemble squirrels and owls. We plucked them from their land and ate their bones.”
The generals lifted their mugs and howled in victory.
“We have conquered the Wolfians, destroyed their alpha leaders, scattered their wolf packs and made them smell their own blood. They escaped with their wolf tails between their legs.”
The generals cheered again.
“We have vanquished the Elfins, those fair-skinned, haughty braggarts who think the world worships their poetry and drunkenness. We kicked them right out of their homeland.”
Again the generals gave their rally cry.
“Finally, brothers, we have chewed into the Magi world where the fat had grown its thickest. We dug our thick claws into the children of the flower and drew first blood. We seized their deity by the throat and made it bow to ours, the great dark lord, Avero.”
The men hooted and hollered at this news.
A look of satisfaction crawled across Fragile’s ratty face, “And now that we have their East Forest, we need to take the West.”
The generals simmered. They knew better than to disagree with their general, but his new plan didn’t make sense.
Urk spoke up, gesturing with his abnormally long talons, “Fragile sir, not to tarnish your wisdom, but shouldn’t we go after the North? They know we are here; let us take their kingdom.”
Fragile looked around to see Ashen and Kashun nodding slightly, but not in a way that made them responsible for their answer.
He grunted, “You think I am misguided in my war efforts? Your lack of confidence in me is mental treason.”
Ashen spoke, “But why should we go to the West when we can take the government in one fast invasion? It’s the head. We already know we outnumber them.”
“I don’t want just the head!” Fragile yelled, slamming his fist down. “I want to rip off the arms and the legs. I want to bite my teeth in the neck and feel the pulse slowly stop. I want every Phaenix to know that I am master over their putrid race. And when they realize that no one can save them, I want them forgotten from history. For too long the Phaenix have enjoyed the victory of their god and their luxury. They breathe their sugary air and wallow in their government, while we break our souls trying to maintain a swamp. Forgive me for not wanting to just give them a quick death, but I want every Phaenix to know who destroyed them.”
The generals cheered again.
Suddenly, a stout, furry beast walked in and bowed to the generals.
“What is it?”
“Message: the eye is in Faeria.”
“What?”
“The spies have seen the eye. He walks in the West.”
Fragile let out a curse in his language and banged his head against the table top. “Frukkhorn! Why? How? How is this even possible?”
Kashun let his smile slither on like a snake tail. “You know what this is, brother.”
Fragile gave him a strong warning, “Don’t say it, arch knave.”
“You know it’s true. We have a song about it.”
“Don’t you dare sing it,” Fragile demanded.
Kashun belted it out anyway. It was a prophetic song sung by the Kalhari, and this particular one made Fragile uncomfortable.
“From outer verse
From second world
From government unseen
Comes unknown soul
Of lesser mind
Of one who dreams our dreams”
“I demand you stop singing that blasted song!” Fragile yelled, plugging his ears. Urk and Ashen wished that he would stop singing as well.
“From blacker fate
To lighter world
His strength of faithless sight
To help the winged
Bring down the troll
And to make a balanced fight”
“Stop it!” Fragile screamed and the rest of the generals begged to leave.
Ashen nervously asked the question. “I thought we took care of that?”
Fragile looked desperate, but he spoke with anger. “I gave him the Drea
dinato. They always die; that is the rule of the Dreadinato. He was supposed to die.”
Kashun stood up and did a dance that made him look like a monkey. “But now he is in Faeria and he will kill you. Just like the prophecy said.”
Fragile’s teeth ground together. The prophecy could sway the loyalty of his generals, which is why he had put in a safety net with the curse—a tracking mechanism. The troll artists could sense where the boy was.
“Silence! You think I didn’t anticipate this? If I wanted to I would have slain the twig boy right where he stood. No, my deadly aim was much more cunning than you give me credit for. Yes, I cursed the boy with the Dreadinato, hoping it would kill him outright. And just to be sure, I tied the eye to a tracking signal.” Fragile sneered at his brother. “I used a dark artist more advanced than you, brother Kashun. A curse can sometimes reverse a prophecy, but I needed to be absolutely sure it had worked. Even if he is alive and well, he will not be for long. Soon the boy will die and the prophecy will be nothing more than a fart in a tornado.”
“But he is going to the high priest. He’s going to lose the curse and all your efforts will be thwarted,” Urk complained.
Fragile squinted his beady eyes and glared at his generals. “We know where he is in the West. We will go and finish the job as part of our campaign to destroy the West. Then nothing will be able to stop us!” Urk and Ashen applauded; Kashun just gave his brother an evil eye.
“Ravenheart!” Fragile yelled.
Within moments, a cloaked Kalhari came through the tent. His face was covered in a hood. His garment was decorated with sacred charms and animal bones. As part of his mystic arts he wore a necklace comprised of his mother’s toe bones. No one could see his face, and that was how Ravenheart liked it. He worked in shadows. What the other trolls couldn't see reminded them of the uncertainty of the black world they lived in.
“Yes, my Lord?” Ravenheart said faithfully.
“Where is the eye?”
“In the West Forest, near the Celcira Mountains, where the high priest dwells.”
A bright grin grew on Fragile’s rough face, and he turned to his brother. “Kashun, you are worthless to me, just like you were worthless to Father. I brought you along as an act of goodwill, so never, ever believe that I need you. I can replace you.”
Kashun stormed out in a swirl of dark fabric.
Fragile gloated in his small victory, “You see, faithful generals, we will have victory over our enemies and no one can stop us.”
*****
Gibbs looked like a generic uncle in one of those sitcoms, Ethan decided. He was unkempt in hygiene, but still held an authority to himself. Not to forget he also had the power to scare away huge squid-hawks. That was about the only thing Ethan knew about him.
Aside from his first comment to Caitilin, Gibbs did not speak another word. He let the aura of mystery surround him. As he walked he would look back at Ethan and shake his head in bewilderment.
He led the two explorers to where the trees receded and a valley appeared. Stone walls rose up over the valley, shadowing the forests. Ethan saw a little house down in the valley, cut out of the mountain. Gibbs lived alone.
Caitilin tapped Gibbs on the shoulder. “I rescued a boy from the curse. Aren’t you proud of me?”
Gibbs turned away and kept walking. It was obvious to Caitilin that he was angry. She knew why. An Earthian had illegally stepped into Faeria. She feared the discipline her mentor would give her for this erroneous mistake. He needed to hear her reasons.
They climbed down the steep cliff until they reached the valley floor. Only one set of stairs led to the bottom of the mountain. Ethan started to step down.
Gibbs gave him an icy stare.
Ethan wasn’t going to use the stairs.
Ethan skidded down into the valley falling to his rear every other step.
The house was bright inside, lit generously by torches hanging on the wall. Next to the torches were draperies and wall-mounted golden swords. Gibbs’ house resembled his disheveled look. There were parchments stacked on the floor and wooden cups strewn about. He preferred a messy house; one of the benefits of living alone. An oven in the corner was hewn out of the mountain, and a book shelf with leather-bound books stood guard near a few silky cushions on the floor.
“Take off your shoes,” Gibbs said sternly, and Ethan saw the lines of stress in his forehead.
Ethan obeyed and then tried to sit on one of the high priest’s cushions.
“Off, now,” Gibbs reprimanded.
What was this old man’s problem? Ethan wondered. He realized that he had been seen as a useless burden with all the other Phaenixs, why would with this one be different? Maybe Caitilin had a mental illness that made her nice to Earthians and everyone else was healthy.
Gibbs poured himself some tea from a ceramic kettle and sat down on a cushion. Caitilin stood in the background, waiting for her master to address her. Gibbs closed his eyes and drew a deep breath.
He motioned for her to come and she meekly sat down. His gaze went from stern and hard to vulnerable.
“Tell me this isn’t some act of rebellion against the Queen.”
She shook her head vigorously. “No master, it’s not about that at all.”
He then pointed at Ethan, who was trying to blend in with the corner. “Tell me then, why did you bring an Earthian into our homeland?”
Her face burned. “I wanted to help him banish his curse.”
“Even against the act of Dhal, which forbids Earthians from coming?”
She nodded. “The code of Lucinda tells a deaconess to help all we can, whenever we can, and whomever we can, all the time. I thought the code of Dhal would subside for this one poor soul. I pitied him, just like you told me. You always told me to pity those who can’t help themselves.”
Gibbs brought his teacup to his lips. He thought about what she had just said.
“It looks like I taught you to rebel against the Queen.”
She was shocked.
He smiled. “That’s not a harsh thing. We both rebelled against the Queendom for the sake of piety and hospitality. This is unforgivable by any member of the Registral and Magistral. But, our Daysun sees the good in this. And surely the Daysun’s blessing is on us. I suppose this crime is not as grave. I, myself, have brought back squirrels, deer, frogs and cats from the Earthian world. They had suffered from broken limbs and needed medical attention.
He dropped a leaflet of honey liquid into his tea, “Sometimes you need to let your soul make a decision that a written rule cannot. However, let’s not make this healing longer than we have to.”
Caitilin dropped her guard and stopped holding her breath. She let out a sigh of relief. Even Ethan started to see Gibbs’ tense shoulders relax. He seemed more like a jovial uncle, albeit with the power to stop huge Octaflaughts.
Gibbs went over to the Earthian and put his tiny, gnarled hands on Ethan’s shoulders. “It’s been so long since I have seen one of you. Did your people ever stop that Germanic tribe from invading the Eurasian lands?”
Ethan didn’t know what to say. Gibbs’ English was perfect, but that still didn’t help him understand.
Gibbs turned to Caitilin, “Does he suffer from learning disorders? He doesn’t even say hello.”
Caitilin snickered. “His name is Ethan. Earthians are well past the Germanic invasion. Ethan faces more perplexing issues like: what clothes to wear and how to save money for purchasing his own transportation.”
Gibbs took the cursed hand of Ethan and grimaced deeply at it. “So many Phaenix have fallen to this curse. Many of them did not even make it to me. They were eaten by Octaflaughts or trees fell on them. I knew a poor Elfin that got the Dreadinato—his organs were transformed into walnuts and squirrels devoured him. Then there was that poor fellow who got the curse and his blood went in reverse direction. The people of that town gave him the name death fountain. I digress. How long have you had it?”
“Thre
e days or so,” Ethan spoke softly, trying to get used to talking to the elder.
Gibbs turned to Caitilin and asked in Phaenix, “Did I use the right words?”
Ethan repeated what he had said slower and louder.
“It’s true,” Caitilin butted in. “He has had it for three days.”
Gibbs threw up his hands. “How have you lived this long?”
“It’s horrible,” Caitilin said. “His parents gone, his classmates rejected him, large automobiles tried to hit him. Even Mollet didn’t like him.”
Gibbs laughed, getting right into Ethan’s personal space. Ethan felt tortured by this goofy elder. “You met Mollet? He has quite the log shoved up his backside, if you ask me. The guy never attends our food socials.”
Then Gibbs rambled a line of Phaenix and laughed hysterically with Caitilin.
Ethan sniggled out of discomfort. He did not know if he preferred the silent and angry Gibbs to the jovial and crazy one. The man seemed like any sweet, old uncle, but he did not acknowledge the social etiquette of Earth.
Gibbs ran to the bookshelf and pulled out a book that was definitely older than anyone in the room. Flipping to a page, he found a particular passage that would help.
“This is The Shaye. It has every rule a Phaenix needs to know about living here. It’s a boring book, if you ask me. I do prefer The War Canticles of Faeria. Did you know we won an ancient battle against Wolfian border hounds just using silverware and one sword? That is amazing to me.”
Gibbs began laughing in his language, while slapping his knee and bouncing up and down. Caitilin joined in. They started to do a little jig with their feet and sung a Phaenix ditty.
Ethan really wanted this to be over.
Caitilin smirked and remembered she had memorized large chunks of The Shaye. She didn’t want to admit it, but it was indeed a boring book.
With the book open, Gibbs asked, “Your parental figures are missing?”
Caitilin bit her lip. There was something she hadn’t told Ethan. He wasn’t ready to hear, but he would have to know eventually.
Gibbs closed his eyes and pounded his chest. “A pity. Really it is a slipshod. Is there an orphanage or Readying House you can attend?”
The Boy and His Curse Page 9