The Boy and His Curse

by Michael P Mordenga

  “Chance and logic,” Ethan said.

  “Correct. It would be safe to assume that you do not believe in something you do not fully understand or comprehend.”

  Sure. That made sense to Ethan.

  “But take our air, for an example. In the Magi world, oxygen is a completely different formula than the Earthian oxygen dioxide. Our air is comprised of micro specks called dusticons that are broken down into smaller specks that fit into a class of science called the formula magicks. Do you understand?”

  Ethan stared.

  “What?”

  “By that reasoning, you don’t understand how our air works, so you should not believe in your next breath. But here you are breathing our air. Under that reasoning, do you think there are some rules of life that you obey but currently don’t fully understand? Maybe the presence of an outside being with power, perhaps?”

  Caitilin was enthralled by Hinson’s sound logic.

  Ethan leaned back at the table to take it all in. There was something in Hinson’s voice that made it so reassuring, but it still didn’t make sense.

  “What about the greater good in us that keeps us moving forward? I don’t see a creator in that. It’s just survival of the fittest.”

  “Once again those are concepts you understand, but there is so much you might not understand.”

  The distaste flew up in Ethan. “And yet you haven’t seen this creator, just like I have never seen a divine force. And if divinity really exists, why did he take my parents away?”

  Those words slipped from Ethan’s mouth and he didn’t mean to say them, but they still came out. He leaned away.

  Caitilin grabbed his hand and pressed it firmly. “We mourn the loss of your parentals and I would do anything to bring them back. But I can’t, they are lost in this curse. If it’s any consolation, we believe the Daysun links with our kotoma when it is sad and lonely and mirrors it so we do not suffer alone.”

  Ethan slowly retracted his hand. “I will fight for you in this war, but I won’t take your beliefs. Once this is done, you will take me back to Earth.”

  She put up her hands in surrender. “I will abide by that.”

  Hinson stared gloomily at the forged parchment he had convinced Caitilin to accept. How many lies had it been for Hinson to get where they were? Did his code of honor change because they were on a mission? The Daysun had called them to this mission—the same deity who told them not to lie. It seemed to Hinson that every step forward on this path was from some dishonest speech that had rolled so naturally from his tongue. He felt further from his call to be a high priest than he had ever felt. His stomach dropped and it seemed the very god he had been serving the whole time was burning a hole of shame in him.

  Caitilin was about to share another story when she saw Hinson rip up the parchment from the corner of her eye.

  “I can’t do it,” Hinson said, straight faced. “I won’t let the Queen see this forgery.”

  Ethan halted mid-chew to see his only ticket being shredded.

  “The deceit ends now. I have pilgrimaged for so long and yet I have forgotten how to be noble. I can’t spend another minute telling a lie. We can’t use this forgery of a prophecy.”

  He still kept his voice solemn and steady. It was like someone had peeled back his leadership exterior to his raw and vulnerable core.

  Ethan felt the sprouts grow sour in his stomach. “What about my cover? What about the plan?”

  Hinson put a hand up to calm the boy down. “I can understand using the disguise because that is more for your safety and for the safety of the castle. That is noble wisdom.” He then turned to Caitilin and showed a face of apology. “But to taint holy literature that has spoken to us is too much. I am sorry, Caitilin, for dragging you down to that level. I need to remember I am no longer a woodsman, but a priest, and that means something.”

  Ethan grew weak and concerned. “Won’t that forgery keep me from dying too?”

  “We have a holy mission and a vision. If that is enough for Gibbs, it is enough for me.”

  Caitilin gazed at him dreamily. It was enough that Hinson was a pious and devout Phaenix, but he was also true to his conscience and his feelings. How was he not married yet? she wondered.

  Mollet was half listening in the background. He snorted air out of his nose. “What a wuss.”

  The conversation drew to a quiet close as they finished their meal.

  “The sea is glass and the wind is calm before a battle. Death keeps his mouth still and his hopes high.”

  - Elfin Poem of War

  XVI: It Takes A Thief

  The Drift Space glistened with morning dew, saturating the waking flora of the fields. As the rosy dawn stretched into the sky, the Phaenix warriors prepared for a battle. They didn’t know when or how the battle would come or what it would look like, but they made themselves ready. Generals, Swordsmen, artists, and archers were given one task, “destroy the invaders.” Every hour was filled with strategies on how to defeat the enemy, and they spent moment by moment sparring and perfecting their craft. They weren’t satisfied until every general had memorized their fight pattern, every archer could shoot the center of a wooden target from one-hundred wing breadths, and every swordsman could take a Kalhari’s head with a single slice. They may have been a small clan of fighters, but they were determined to take on any nation that dared fight against them. Budgeron made sure his warriors were up at every dawn, overcoming delirium with adrenaline. Putting the warriors in constant danger would heighten their senses to fight and react. It was a rush that could tear apart any invading army. This was their only hope.

  Every tent was fully used in housing the warrior squads. They waited for the watcher of the trees to sound the horn of war. If it didn’t sound, then they practiced even harder. They were the small thousand versus the three thousand, but they still persevered.

  To the East, the blur of a young Phaenix ran through the trees. He pressed harder past the darkness of the foliage, thirsting for the light from the torches of the Drift Space. Behind him, he could feel the hungry eyes and hear the howling of the enemy. His little legs pressed further past the thickets, bushes and leaves. All he needed was an escape.

  A troll’s cackle woke the camp.

  Every squad was up, already in their armor, ready and willing. They dashed to the woods in a flood of metal, ready to fight. They held their position, waiting like a viper to strike.

  A blur of a creature hurled from the forest and toppled over on the ground.

  All the bows readied to fire, the strings tightened.

  “Hold!” a general yelled. He came forward, identifying the creature.

  It was a very young Phaenix boy. He was holding a small wooden dagger. His wings had tears in them.

  The general walked over and rolled the boy over. He was barely breathing, but he seemed to be still alive, despite the caked blood on his face and neck. The general picked him up, but suddenly another beast exploded through the trees. He was hungry; jowls open, swinging a spear into the air like a mentally diseased hog on a rampage.

  The Phaenix force instantly recognized the creature and released their arrows like the hounds of Hell. Fury pierced through the troops until the Kalhari trooper had fallen. The troll was a pin cushion in a matter of seconds.

  Within moments, the Kalhari body was burned to a crisp. His weapons were stored away for inspection. The young Phaenix was carried to the medic tent. He was wrapped in leaf bandages and given a yellow herb to help him sleep.

  “Get the head nurse,” Budgeron commanded. “I want this sprout to be bandaged.”

  *****

  The dew had evaporated, and the morning’s long shadows had shifted. The warriors had been preparing throughout the day, studying the Kalhari’s armor. The contempt of the Phaenix grew as they saw the enemy’s gear.

  A medical Phaenix dashed from the medic tent. “The sprout is awake!”

  The warriors eagerly crowded the tent as Budgeron entered
. His eyes saw the bedridden boy, wrapped in white bandages stained with sap. His knuckles were white from the tight grip on the wooden dagger.

  “Master! Master! I have fought valia…vali…valin….”

  “Valiantly?” Budgeron questioned.

  “Yes,” he sputtered. “I killed an entire crawlie squad of sworders. They were all afraid of me and I couldn’t stop beating their heads and ripping off their tails.”

  So young and agile, Budgeron thought. So many young Phaenix sprouts had told Budgeron every lie under the sun to get into the warrior’s guild. This was a sprout’s utopia, where the troops fought for honor and protection of the homeland.

  The young lad’s smile never left. “My name is Thief. That is what my Read…redden…Readying House calls me because I can steal without being noticed. I am a swift wingy. You need me to steal the lives of the crawlies.”

  Budgeron’s mind moved to his beloved daughter when she was heading to her Readying House. Her energy and devotion mirrored Thief’s. He wondered if he was ready to send another sprout on the battlefield in his condition.

  “What is your family name?” he asked.

  Thief spoke proudly, “Ymij, son of the sword battalion in the eastern reserves. My father was trained to fight crawlies, but he died before I was plucked.”

  The poor lad, Budgeron thought. He was probably a lone survivor in the massacre. “How did you get to us?”

  “I killed a squad of sworders.”

  Budgeron’s bushy eyebrow perked; he was taken by Thief’s charm, but he wouldn’t have a fibber in his army. Even his shabby wooden dagger had no blood on it.

  “We don’t allow fibbers in the warrior’s guild.”

  Thief recanted immediately. “My Readying House teacher Camelia put us in the underground pass, below the Celcira fields, leaving me and the other sprouts with a bag of yummies. That was the day the crawlies were coming in to burn down our village. We were s’posed to be safe, that was what the teacher told us. We were quieter than mute molediggers, but they still found us. The crawlies had sharp claws and they went into our hiding spot. The teacher screamed for us to run. There was so much noise. When I was running, I noticed that no other sprouts were running with me; I was all alone. I wish I turned around and fought.”

  Thief was now standing on his cot, fidgeting with the leaf sheets on his face.

  Budgeron turned to one of his soldiers. “Get our guest some food, he is probably famished.”

  “Thief,” he said, carefully taking the dagger, “you were brave to come to us. I bet you wanted to fight all those crawlies. I am glad you did not fight—not yet.”

  The small one nodded and sniffed through his dressings.No sprout should have to fight the wars of adults. When the Queen lowered the fighting age, it included too many innocents. Now they were training young Phaenix barely out of their Readying House.

  Thief sat at the edge of his cot and consumed the bean rations, green leaves, and hog tips that were served before him. He shoveled the food in as fast as it was served. Budgeron ordered his troops to switch babysitting duty. Many of the troops volunteered to watch him because they enjoyed his youthful commentary. He spent the day watching the warriors unload their aggression on faux crawlies made from haystacks. When they weren’t fighting, they were being instructed on how to kill faster and stronger. Soon enough, Thief was fantasizing along with them, much to the chagrin of the medics. He was slashing at the air with his wooden dagger and yelling out a war cry.

  But Thief wasn’t satisfied until he saw the warrior of his dreams walk into the Drift Space. His glorious obsidian sword hung from a leather sheath. Every muscle was trained and built with true warrior physique. As he approached, warriors crowded him, hungry to hear his stories on victorious battles. Thief joined among them as Mollet calmly sat down at the table. Among them were members of Mollet’s team who knew he had promised to kill the Earthian. None of them had reported to the generals about this heretic in Faeria because they were sure Mollet would have his head and they did not want to rob him of that honor.

  “Did you get the Earthian?”

  “Why haven’t you been training?”

  “Do you have any new strategies for us?”

  “Can I be part of your squad?”

  “Will you teach us the Adoki dead raising maneuver?”

  Mollet pulled a sourwine apple from his pocket. Usually he didn’t mind the attention, but he didn’t want to think about it now. He had escorted an Earthian to the castle that he had sworn his life to protect. There was a numb sensation in his being. It was most dishonorable in the eyes of his kin, but he was concerned with a different scenario. Would Ethan be accepted in the castle or would he soon hear cries for help. He shuddered at the thought.

  A small pair of hands wove through the anxious warriors until he squeezed to the front of the group. Mollet was surprised to see a little sprout drowning in warrior armor.

  “Brave warrior Mollet,” Thief said boldly, “my father fought in the East, protecting the homeland from crawlies and baddies. He was brave, just like you. Can you make me like him?”

  “An innocent should not be on the battlefield. Go to your Readying House, they will teach you,” Mollet said softly but still gruff. He let Thief’s words echo in his head, still trying to ignore everyone’s answers. He felt the tug of his tunic. It was the adorable little Phaenix again.

  “My father died in battle before I was plucked. He must have fought with you.”

  Mollet’s heart sank to his cushioned leather boots. The vulnerability of Thief reminded him of another helpless young one, Ethan. He returned his gaze to Thief and saw two cerulean eyes of wonder and amazement. It was like staring at a young, fiery version of himself.

  “My brother died in the invasion,” Mollet returned.

  “Did he kill a million crawlies?”

  Mollet gave his best smirk under his beard. “At least. In fact, we would have destroyed their whole army if I had been there with him.”

  Then Mollet unsheathed the long, black blade of Vota. Thief’s eyes feasted hungrily on the blade, even exhibiting a little drool in his jealousy.

  “You see this blade? My brother used it in the battle. When he fell, he dropped this sword in a hollow tree so I would find it. This, my family’s sword, has seen many wars.”

  “Did you look for it with crawlies around?” Thief made gritting monster teeth.

  “I sure did. If any of them would have found me they would have been slain.”

  Mollet flipped the blade and pointed to the tiny etched circles on it. “This is my family sword; do you know why these circles are here?”

  Thief was hanging onto every word his idol spoke.

  “Every time a foe is slain a circle is etched into this blade. You see these circles here?” Mollet pointed to the ten last ones. “Those were from my brother in the East invasion.”

  Thief’s eyes went wide with amazement. He definitely wanted that kill record.

  “Mollet!” a voice shouted from the back.

  The warriors scattered to let Budgeron through. His face was red and his mustache moved up and down when he was angry. He did not care for the warrior’s popularity.

  Mollet snapped to attention and bowed to one knee, “Master of Defense.”

  “See me in my quarters.”

  Budgeron left, his strides leaving an awkward tension as they all stared at Mollet. “Mollet, be careful around the master,” a warrior said. “He just lost something very precious to him.”

  Mollet knew. They walked into the master’s tent. There wasn’t much inside except a beaten feather-based bedroll with feathers strewn about and a lavish table spilling with strategy scrolls. Budgeron was already sitting down, his mustache twitching. He had heard Mollet had made a vow of silence to help three members of the Religistral. That was completely against his orders and also very strange for his best soldier. As if the waves of guilt and grief were enough, could he trust this reckless behavior?

&
nbsp; Mollet was speechless. Should he speak? Should he lie? This was the Master of Defense staring straight through him. He was in charge of the most victorious company of soldiers. Would he get grace for helping an illegal alien visit the Queen? He didn’t feel all that safe with his giant sword. The grizzly hairs on his body stood straight up.

  “I’ve been aware of your desertion. Absent for three days?”

  The sweat on Mollet’s brow started to sting his eyes. He had been with professional liars from the Religistral early this morning. Had he learned nothing? His jaw muscles ground to a halt. Maybe the deaconess used dark arts on his throat.

  “Well,” Budgeron interjected, studying Mollet’s flush face.

  “There’s an Earthian here.” Mollet dropped his gaze.

  “...That’s... impossible.”

  “He’s in the castle to visit with the Queen.”

  What first was shock changed to anger from the Master of Defense. Mollet was definitely insulting his intelligence. “You go off wallowing in insidious parties, probably flying around with your betrothal and you expect me to believe that fawn tale?! You are not even trying to deceive me; it’s just basic lies coming from your mouth. You were frolicking about with a female, while your brothers were sweating for the homeland. You think because of your status that you can get away with anything!”

  “No!” Mollet’s eyes flared.

  “Where’s your honor?”

  “Yes, sir,” Mollet felt very small now.

  “Where were you for three days?”

  Confessing to the parties and frolicking seemed like an easier path, but the code of the warriors is that the knowledge must be shared with the higher ranks. Would Budgeron understand the prophecy and how Ethan could bring victory to the homeland? Mollet wondered if he even believed it. That is why Mollet hated what he was going to say.