Rise of the Fallen

by Ivory Autumn

  “You look sad, Andrew,” Ivory said. “Why? Is it because you miss your friends.”

  Andrew shrugged. “Yes, and no. Oh I don't know. I was just thinking is all.”

  “Well, don't think too much. These day's it pays to do as very little of that as possible. Thinking hurts too much”

  “Yeah,” Andrew sighed. “But, it also hurts not to.”

  “Here, I've got just the thing to cheer you up,” Ivory said, pulling Andrew up from his seat, and over to the green hedges that protected the rows of flowers from the wind. She handed him a pair of clippers and pointed to a stool. “Help me trim these, and you'll feel better. Just imagine that those long twigs are your problems and chop them off. It feels really nice.”

  “Okay,” Andrew murmured, stepping up a ladder leaning against the overgrown hedges. “Imagine that they're my problems.” He snipped a long branch with the clippers and the branch fell to the ground with a low thud.

  “See,” Ivory said, flashing him a big grin. “I told you it feels nice.”

  Andrew returned the smile. “Yeah, it does.” He laughed to himself, and reached out and pulled a high branch down so that he could trim it---but the branch turned yellow and broke off in his hands and disintegrated into a fine powder.

  “Ivory,” Andrew cried. “Did you see that? Maybe I better not do this.”

  She poked her head over the opposite side of the hedge and smiled. “Andrew, you’re not five years old. I don’t need to hold your hand. You’re doing just fine.”

  Andrew gave Ivory a confused look. “That’s not what I meant.”

  She winked, and turned back to her own work. “Sure, it wasn’t.”

  “Girls!” he exhaled and turned back to his work, taking greater care not to touch any of the branches.

  At home, he’d planted seeds, and they had grown just fine---almost too fine, in fact. The tree branches in Hollyhock Hollow had never turned to dust in his hands. He was starting to feel a little out of control. What was wrong with him?

  Soon, he came to a tall branch that was much too high for him to trim. He climbed to the top rung of the ladder. As he reached the highest rung, the wood beneath him broke and he fell forward into the hedge with a crash.

  With his fall, the leaves and branches of the hedge, that he'd fallen into, slowly petrified into brown sticks, spreading out from him until the miles of hedges turned into dry sticks.

  Andrew crawled out from the dead hedge, into the field of starflowers, where he lay, gasping for air, his face and body dripping in sweat. His hand grazed against a single starflower. He recoiled at the touch and jumped back. The flower he'd touched died instantly and toppled over, hitting another flower and toppling it over, until one by one, half the field of flowers had become totally brown.

  Andrew stood staring at the rows of dead flowers, with a growing sense of dread, fear, and anger in his heart. What had he just done?

  “Oh, Andrew!” Ivory wailed, wide-eyed and fearful. “What have you done?”

  Krot simultaneously appeared on the scene, too stunned to utter a word. After a long pause, he spoke. His eyes showed anger and his fat cheeks were red with rage. “Witchery craft! It’s da devil himself, sent to ruin me, ruin me! Ivory what do you haf to say for yourself? For bringing dis boy to me, bringing a living drought to my gardens.”

  Ivory's eyes grew misty and she shook her head. “I...I...didn't know.”

  “You didn't know!” Krot thundered, grabbing her pointy ears and yanking. “I'm sure you didn't! You, you, little...scheming...”

  “Stop!” Andrew cried, putting himself between Krot and Ivory. “It’s not her fault. I begged her to let me help her. I made her ask you to let me help in your gardens. You see…I was sent here by someone, to destroy this place.”

  Krot breathed in and out slowly, his large nostrils flaring as he stared from Ivory and then back to Andrew. “Destroy this place, but why?”

  “I…I don’t know.”

  “You’re lying. How could you not know! Ivory look what you have brought into my gardens. Just look what you have done.”

  Ivory stepped up to Andrew, searching Andrew’s face for answerers, her eyes gleaming with tears. “I thought you were my friend, Andrew.”

  Andrew swallowed hard, and set his jaw. “I guess you thought wrong.”

  “I am ruined, ruined!” Krot moaned. His eyes flamed with anger and he grabbed Andrew by the collar and shook him violently. “I’ve half a mind to squeeze da breath out of you. Do you know vhat they'll do to me and da girl when they find zat half my garden is dead?”

  “No,” Andrew choked out. “W...what?”

  “They'll kill us! Dat's vhat!”

  “Then,” Andrew gasped, “tell them it was me and they'll take me instead.”

  Ivory’s eyes showed surprise. “You would do that, Andrew?”

  Andrew nodded. “That’s what friends do.”

  “Yes,” Krot said, a sour smile forming on his lips. “Zat is vat friends do. But mind you, If I take you to zem, you must promise to swear to zem zat you did this. Understand!”

  Andrew nodded. “Yes.”

  “Good!” Krot cried, relaxing his grip on Andrew, letting him crumple to the ground. “Ivory, get some bird net. Quickly!”

  “But, why?”

  “Just do it!”

  “Okay.” She glanced at Andrew mournfully, then not knowing what else to do, she retrieved the desired net. Krot wrenched it from her and tossed it over Andrew's body.

  “I said I'd tell them it was me,” Andrew said, struggling against the net, as Krot dragged him over the rough earth. “Let me walk!”

  “I know vhat you said,” Krot retorted, kicking Andrew savagely. “Quit your squirming. This is my insurance just in case you change your mind.”

  ~~~~

  Chapter Six

  Hangman’s Tree

  Krot dragged Andrew along, toward the town of Nookpot, like a sack of rubbish, with Ivory following a safe distance behind them.

  When they finally reached Nookpot, Krot threw Andrew down in front of the Frizzler’s Slump Slave Camp gate. “I've brung ya a criminal,” Krot shouted to the guards. “A nasty dangerous one.”

  As Krot spoke, Andrew peered fearfully through the netting. He could see the tree by the gate---the one he'd touched when he'd first entered Nookpot. The tree looked dead and leafless. Seeing the once lovely green tree---the one sign of his hope, dead, hurt worse than anything. What was happening to him?

  “I’ve got an escaped slave!” Krot yelled again. “Doesn't any vun care?”

  “We’re coming, we’re coming,” a Sontar warden shouted, ambling up to them, along with several other guards, and hissing in amusement. Krot had always irritated them by his bossiness. “Now what'sss thisss you've got? An esssscaped sssslave? Imposssssible!”

  “Impossible or not,” Krot said, “he’s a dangerous criminal!”

  “Dangerousss criminal?” the Sontar asked, inspecting Andrew. “He doesn't look so dangerous to me.”

  “Oh,” Krot said, with wide eyes. “But he is. He is!”

  “Fine,” the Sontar sighed in a bored tone. “I'll get the captain and we'll see how dangerous he is.”

  When the captain was summoned, he took one look at Andrew, and let out a loud exclamation of anger. “It’s the boy who escaped from the post.” He kicked Andrew. “How did you escape, boy?”

  Krot frowned, glancing nervously at Ivory. “It doesn’t matter how he escaped. What matters is what he has done.”

  “And what has he done?”

  “That boy is not just any ordinary slave. He's got supernatural powers!”

  The captain leaned in, eager to hear what Krot was about to say. “What kind of powers?”

  “He ruined my garden?”

  The Sontar sniffed. “What do you mean?”

  “He used his powers and cast a spell over my plants. With a touch of his hand, he caused my flowers and trees to perish. Isn't that right, boy?” Krot pull
ed the netting off Andrew and roared, “Isn't it!”

  “Y...yes...” Andrew faltered, cowering back.

  “What perverted form of your kind are you?” the captain asked, flicking out his long tongue and showing his fangs. “A Wareleaf? An Earthrot? Tell me, why does everybody think you are sssso valuable?”

  Andrew shook his head. “I don't know.”

  “He’s a weapon. That’s what he is,” Krot shouted. “Take him to a field of grain. There you can see him demonstrate his powers, in full. Then you can decide what to do with him.”

  “Alright,” the captain agreed, dragging Andrew through the streets of Nookpot. “We shall see what it is you can do, boy.”

  Once they reached the field of grain that grew near the borders of Nookpot, the captain pushed Andrew towards it and said, “Now boy, demonstrate your powers!”

  “Please, don’t make me,” Andrew faltered, backing away from the young field of grain, remembering the times that he'd planted grain with his father, back in Hollyhock Hollow, and how he could harvest the grain the same day that he'd planted it. Somehow everything inside him felt different from that far off time---wilted and dead. He dared not touch a single green sprig.

  “Hurry up, you pile of bones!” the Sontar shouted.

  Andrew looked at the Sontar with frightened eyes and shook his head. “I won't.”

  “Fine!” the Sontar thundered. “Then I'll make you.” The Sontar grabbed Andrew and tossed him into the field of grain. The instant Andrew hit the ground, the whole field of grain looked as if it had been hit by a huge gust of wind. A wilted brown circle of dead grain formed around Andrew and then spread out, until one by one, the stems fell over on top of each other and died, wiping out miles of grain in only a matter of seconds.

  Andrew groaned and sat up. Whatever had happened had caused him to feel limp, weak, tired and out of breath. He let out a low gasp as he stood and gazed at the field. It was dead. It looked as if a hot wind had run through the whole field and withered the green stalks of the young grain. It was sickening.

  A horrible feeling churned in Andrew's stomach, almost as if he was about to throw up. He gazed down at his hands and fell to his knees, crying out in anguish. How had he done something so terrible? How?

  “There!” Krot shouted, finally regaining his voice. “I told you the boy was dangerous. Utterly dangerous. There's no end to what havoc he could cause. Famine, death, destruction!”

  “You’re right,” the Sontar captain hissed. “He isss a living famine. How interesssting. Guardssss, take him into Nookpot, where the old tree growsss in the town square and bring the slavesss, up from the pit to watch the demonstration. We will show the town how dangerous this child is. And we'll show the people what happens to slaves who dare defy our power!”

  “Sire,” a Sontar guard murmured, taking the captain aside. “What do you mean? We can’t do anything to this boy. He is not our property. If the Lord of the North doesn’t have your head for harming the boy, Vargas will, and if he doesn’t, Morack will. And last time I check, you only have one head to loose.” The Sontar captain hissed, and smiled. “I never said I was planning on killing the boy. Only that I’m interesssted in seeing what elssse he can do. Plus, by ssshowing him off to the people, they will hate him and dessspise him. If he escapes again, the people will bring him in without our help.”

  The guard nodded. “Oh, I see.”

  The captain, flicked out his tongue, hissed, and walked slowly behind the procession of guards as they pushed Andrew along through the town, summoning the townspeople as they went. Andrew stumbled along, gazing past the frightened faces of the villagers, only seeing the dead field of grain. Guilt welled up inside him, as if he had murdered an innocent, living being.

  When they got to the designated tree in the center of the town, Andrew caught his breath, feeling awed by the tree’s beauty. It was not just any tree---it was a tree whose branches were great, tall, and green, with feathery leaves hugging its branches. Its huge trunk was thick, like it had been growing there since the beginning of time.

  His attention diverted to the crowd of people gathering around him. It looked as if the whole town of Nookpot had been summoned, along with all the slaves.

  Who would have thought that he would become so important a threat, as to summon this great gathering? He scanned the black, coal-covered faces of the gathering slaves, looking for the faces of his friends. He thought he saw Freddie, and maybe Talic, but he couldn‘t be sure. The slaves all looked much the same---tired, dirty, and hungry. Maybe, he was getting the better end of the deal. At least from the looks of it he wouldn’t be a slave much longer.

  The town's people looked like violent, inhuman, angry animal-like creatures. Some had hair growing all over their bodies, like apes with strange red marks on their foreheads. Maybe, Andrew surmised, they weren’t people at all.

  “We bring before you,” the Sontar captain shouted, “an escaped slave. One who has dared to defy our power. A creature so lowly that desecrates the very earth he stands on.”

  A low, frightened murmur buzzed through the crowd.

  The Sontar raised his arm to speak again. “This boy has gone against us, injured one of my Trolims, and cast a dark spell over our lands---a boy that could cause the town of Nookpot to perish because of famine!”

  The town’s people hushed in fear, and a deadly silence settled on the crowd.

  “Bring the slave to me,” the Sontar captain commanded.

  The guard pushed Andrew into full view of the people, and their hard, hate-filled gaze fell on him like he was a loathsome disease.

  “Bring him before the tree,” the captain said. “Boy, show them your skill. Show them your awful powers from the underworld!”

  The guards dragged Andrew up to the great tree and thrust him towards it. Andrew instantly recoiled from it, but was only pushed towards it even more. “Let me go!” He cried struggling against the Sontars. “Don’t make me touch it, please!” “Show them your powers of darkness boy!” the captain cried, lifting Andrew to his feet, and then dropped him onto the ground. “Or I’ll bite your fingers off, one by one!”

  Andrew looked at the Sontar, a feeling of dread filling his heart. “Then what I do is on your head, not mine.”

  “So be it,” the Sontar retorted. “A dead tree is nothing, compared to the field of grain you destroyed.”

  Andrew shook his head, turned to the tree, and gazed at its huge branches, uttering a low apology. “I’m sorry, old friend.” Then glancing at the faces of the people, his eyes filled with deep sadness.

  “Do it!” The captain barked.

  Andrew closed his eyes, and knelt before the tree, then placed his hands onto its trunk and closed his eyes. If he could, he would have willed the tree to toss the Sontars away. But something within him had died the day he had left the Hollow, and all that remained was the dead part---the part that felt cracked and wilted.

  The second his hands touched the tree, a great wind came up and blew its branches. The tree shifted and groaned, shivering as if it was cold. Dark veins of dead brown color spread out through the tree's bark, starting at Andrews fingertips, running all the way up through its branches until the tree's green leaves withered and fell down around him, like snow, swirling in the wind.

  As soon as the deed was done, Andrew’s shoulders slumped and he leaned up against the dead tree, exhausted.

  A wave of panic fell over the crowd, and exclamations of fear filled the air.

  “He's a killer, that's what!” an angry woman screeched.

  “He's a monster,” another shouted. “Something sent from the underworld to kill us all.”

  “He's a wizard,” an man shouted in a frightened voice. “Sent to starve us with famine!”

  “What's to be done with him?” one person wailed.

  “Get rid of him!” the crowd chanted. “Kill him, kill him!”

  “Hang him from the tree!” a dark-eyed, black-faced man offered.

 
Andrew looked around at the mob of angry faces, desperate for one kind glance. Never in his life had so many people looked at him with such hate. He couldn’t blame them though. He hated himself. He had nothing left. His life was wrecked. His gifts were now his curse. He only wished he'd been able to do some good with them before this had happened.

  “Kill him, kill him. Hang him from the tree!” the crowd chanted over and over again. “Hang him, hang him from the tree! Hang him!”

  The Sontar captain looked from Andrew to the angry crowd, frightened. He hadn’t meant it to go this far. He couldn’t afford to have the boy die.

  “Wait,” the Sontar cried, holding up his arms, and commanding his soldiers to protect the boy. But the crowd was beyond control. They pushed past the Sontars, grabbed Andrew and jerked him up onto a stool, beneath one of the low branches of the tree. Andrew trembled as a thick rope, attached to the overhanging branch, was tossed over his neck, and cinched up around his throat. He breathed in short breaths, feeling sweat drip down his forehead.

  Andrew looked at the Sontar captain for help, but the Sontar looked away, surmising that perhaps, he would be forgiven of his blunder, if he told his leaders that the people had done this deed.

  He wanted to cry out for mercy, for someone to help him, but his pride would not let him. He would die, unloved, and unwanted, to only be remembered as a curse. Then he saw her. Ivory. She was standing behind Krot, her bright green eyes glistened with tears, and she looked at him with such kindness, sorrow that a lump came into his own throat. At least she cared.