Forest of the Forbidden

by W. J. May

  For his part, Rhen inclined his head in greeting at the man sitting yards away in his golden throne. A headdress almost as large as King Razzaq's face sat atop his brow, dripping in jewels and golden chain links. But more than anything, Rhen took in the black tattoos curving and swirling all the way up his arms, ringing the base of his wrists up through his shoulders. Floral designs, island mountains, faces, animals, stones—everything Rhen could imagine was painted with intricate detail on the king's arms. A permanent display of his place above his people.

  To each side, a series of guards stood, arms decorated with varying levels of lines and dots. Over their flowing robes were metal plates of armor. In each hand, a metal weapon.

  Rhen looked at the iron chain in his hand, feeling how out of place it was. Even chains were made of gold here.

  "Prince Whylrhen, welcome to Da'astiku. What brings you to Ourthuro?"

  Rhen tugged the men behind him forward, watching the king's reaction. His black-brown eyes remained impassive. His larger build didn’t jerk or bend. His darkened olive skin didn't pale.

  Someone must have sent word, Rhen concluded, but no matter. He would press forward.

  "King Razzaq," he inclined his head, "My king thanks you for your kindness in welcoming his son to your grand home. I am overwhelmed by the bountiful city I have seen thus far. A true masterpiece."

  "We thank you," the king nodded ever so slightly, the muscles on his thick neck coiling.

  "I have traveled far to return these four men to your person. We found a ship floating aimlessly through our waters, adorned with the flag of your great kingdom, and took it upon ourselves to search for survivors. Locked below deck, we found these four men alone in the dark. In a show of no bad will between our two kingdoms, peaceful now for over a hundred years, I, a Son of Whyl, came to deliver them unharmed."

  "Step forward," the king commanded, eyes narrowing on the four men. His pupils shifted to their wrists, checking each for a station, pausing on the unmarked man the longest.

  Raising his hand, the king flicked two fingers toward the group.

  Before Rhen could move, four spears soared through the air, followed by the thud of four bodies falling to the ground.

  He gasped, fighting the jerk of his limbs, trying not to show any weakness.

  It didn't matter.

  A cry echoed through the hall, piercing his ears, surprising everyone—everyone aside from the unaffected King Razzaq. Even the guards jumped slightly.

  Rhen furrowed his brows, searching for the source of the noise through the walls of thick columns, but there were too many places for someone to hide.

  Blood pooled by his feet, brilliant red and glistening from the reflections of the sun. Unable to stop himself, Rhen looked down, into the eyes of the unmarked man. They held no shock. No surprise. Almost as if he knew this would be his fate.

  But why not mention it? Why not fight to survive?

  Rhen's gaze returned to the king, who studied him with a slight smile on his lips. What did the man know? What plan was circling in that calculated gaze?

  "We thank you, Son of Whyl, for returning these men, but as you can see it was unnecessary. Traitors have no place in Da'astiku."

  "Had I known their fate, I would not have dishonored this palace with their presence."

  King Razzaq waved his hand aimlessly through the air, shaking his head. "It is no matter." He paused, leaning forward ever so slightly. "Tell me, Prince Whylrhen, how is your king? We hear Whylkin has a new son to welcome."

  "The kingdom rejoices, and with it, its king." Rhen held his hands behind his back, widening his stance and gaining a more relaxed pose despite the tightness in his lungs. The air felt heavy, electric somehow. His eyes flicked around, looking at the spaces between the columns, trying to find a stone out of place. But each curve blended into the next, deeper and deeper, until his mind hurt from the illusion.

  Something within Rhen did not feel right.

  An unease burrowed between his shoulders, coiling into a painful knot.

  "Our own son is not old enough to birth children, but we can only imagine the joy of solidifying the future of the kingdom with another strong heir. We are surprised you were able to leave such celebrations. Did you not miss it?"

  "King Razzaq," Rhen said, forcing his voice to carry louder as his nerves grew. Why had he come alone? He was a prince, not a spy. A prince, no matter what he wanted. That position demanded protection. "You have touched my heart with your concern. I did in fact miss it, but I did what any good son would and followed my father's commands. The prisoners were delivered unharmed." Rhen looked at the blood seeping under his shoe, his chest burning with injustice. "And now I must bid farewell and return to my kingdom."

  "Will you not stay for one meal? Surely the longs days of travel were tiresome."

  Rhen raked the room with his eyes, noticing that a few more guards had moved around the columns, holding their curved swords before their faces, alert.

  His own fingers itched for the smooth hilt of his weapon.

  "I am afraid, great King, that I cannot."

  Rhen swallowed his spit, wetting his scratchy throat. Steps drummed in his ear, loud in the silence of the hall. A guard walked past him, bowing on bended knee at the base of the throne before handing the king a golden box.

  Rhen stepped back, creating red footprints on the tiles below his feet.

  Something was very wrong here.

  "We are very surprised by your urgency, dear Prince."

  "My captain waits for me."

  He took another step back, making no pretense to hide the hand reaching for his sword.

  The king smiled wider, fully opening the golden box in his lap. His arm muscles flexed, rippling along his tattoo, as he clutched at an item out of Rhen's view.

  Slowly, he lifted.

  White strings circled his fingers.

  White curls.

  Moving quickly, King Razzaq jerked. His arm pulsed fully aloft, throwing the object at Rhen.

  It rolled, over and over, with a red river flowing in its wake.

  Only when it stopped at his feet, did Rhen see the blue eyes looking up at him—the eyes of the father he always wished he had.

  "Your captain waits for nothing."

  The words like knives pierced Rhen, sinking under his skin and cutting him apart. His hands shook. His eyes widened, water pooling at their bases. But his pupils were like iron, nailing King Razzaq to his throne.

  In one swift movement, Rhen pulled his sword from its scabbard, charging. A furious yell spilled from his lips, echoing through the hall, bouncing from column to column with no wall to stop it.

  He bounded the steps, eyes on the throat of his enemy—a throat gyrating from laughter. A throat that would look much better cut in half.

  Hands gripped his ankles, and Rhen fell, forehead slamming against the step in front of him. Drops of blood slipped from his brow, blocking his vision. Black dots invaded his sight.

  But it would not stop him.

  Swinging blindly, his sword dug into something. A cry hit his ear. Rhen rolled to the side, narrowly missing the blade that clanged to the ground next to him. Wiping the blood from his eyes, he kicked out, slamming his foot into a guard. His sword followed, partially severing the man's arm.

  Rhen jumped to his feet.

  There were too many of them. Everywhere Rhen looked, gold plated men were running toward him, eyeing him, pausing just out of reach.

  Circling.

  Like an animal, Rhen was trapped.

  "My father will destroy you," Rhen seethed, sword still held up for protection.

  "We don't believe so," King Razzaq chuckled. Then deeper, "Disarm him."

  As one, the ten men surrounding Rhen jumped forward, careful not to scrape his body. Five swords crashed down on his blade. Rhen lost his grip, letting his weapon clang uselessly against the floor. It reverberated throughout the atrium in an echo that faded along with Rhen's hopes. Along with his dreams
. Until his heart felt empty.

  There was no fight left.

  A boot shoved into his back. Hands gripped his arms, pushing him to the ground, securing him.

  Rhen couldn't move. He could hardly breathe against the pain searing his joints as the guards continued tugging his limbs. Try as he might to squirm away, there was no freedom.

  A hand gripped his hair, forcing his face up, forcing his eyes to the king, who dismounted the throne and stepped down off his dais.

  Leaning in close, so that Rhen could smell the fish on his breath, King Razzaq whispered, "See, dear boy, unlike your father, I have friends outside of my palace—friends who informed me that the youngest Son of Whyl had run away from the castle again, without a word to anyone. Your father has no idea where you are. But I know just what you've been up to."

  "Your friends have been misinformed," Rhen spat, louder so the guards could hear. Sweat dripped from his lip as his body strained. "Before I set sail, I left a note for my father, sealed with my personal royal emblem. My king knows exactly where I am."

  King Razzaq stood, eyes widening slightly as he clasped his hands behind his back, trying to read Rhen's expression.

  Time to push it further, praying Cal had indeed sent the note.

  "If I am not home for the Naming, my father will know exactly what happened to me. And he will come. No amount of gold in the world would stop him."

  The king's eyes narrowed. After a moment, he flicked his gaze to one of the guards behind Rhen and nodded to the right.

  Louder, so the room could hear, King Razzaq pronounced Rhen's fate. "You will die, Prince Whylrhen, just like the others you came with. And I will return your lifeless, drowned body to the king myself—a sign of no bad will between two peaceful kingdoms, of course."

  He winked.

  Something heavy slammed into the base of Rhen's skull. Pain exploded down his neck, his head whipped forward, and all breath was stolen from his body.

  He could not move.

  His limbs would not respond as throbbing prickles continued to stupefy his nerves. Useless.

  The hands gripping his arms tightened, walked forward slowly, and dragged him behind.

  And all Rhen could think was, Just like the others.

  Captain Pygott was dead. The ship was compromised. The crew...

  Jin.

  Poor boy, forced to live just to die.

  Black spots closed in on Rhen, color drained from his eyes, and the world melted away until everything was gone.

  Everything except the pounding of his heart.

  Captain, Jin, I'm sorry.

  And then all thought ceased to exist.

  ––––––––

  11

  Jinji

  Da'astiku

  Consciousness came slowly.

  In her head, Jinji was still flying, still soaring over trees and grass. Images flashed behind her pupils. Memories flickering and fading. Faces. Words. Places she wasn't sure she wanted to remember or forget.

  Her eyes slid open, then shut tight against the sun.

  But one flash was enough.

  Her mind opened, and everything she had seen for the past few hours tumbled back down into the unknown, cascading out of her thoughts, locked away once more.

  In their place, a daze.

  Total confusion.

  Where am I? What happened?

  Jinji sat up, hand holding her aching head as her stomach growled for attention. Her vision gradually came into focus.

  A bed. Wooden slabs. A small circular window. Maps. A hammock below her. Blankets around her.

  The ship. Rhen's ship.

  How much time had passed, she wondered, looking around the room for some sign. She remembered talking with the Ourthuri, remembered touching Rhen's hand—she could still feel the fire that had burst under her skin, awakening the spirits.

  But everything else had vanished.

  The door behind her slammed open, jolting her muscles to life.

  Jinji's mind pricked at the sound of heavy breathing. The echo of clashing swords rang in her ears. The thud of boots was suddenly louder than it had been a moment ago.

  "Jin, you must run." Someone panted.

  She spun.

  Captain Pygott stood with blood falling down his cheek—his blue eyes glowing from pain and fear. Jinji knew whom the fear was for.

  They must have arrived at the Ourthuri city. Rhen must have gone to the king.

  The captain gasped, stepping forward, and held her chin in a viselike grip.

  "Who are you?" He questioned.

  Instantly Jinji understood. She felt for the spirits, felt for their now familiar presence around her face, but nothing was there.

  The illusion had fallen.

  She was a girl once more.

  "I..." She opened, but no words came out. "This is my true face." She said simply. What else could she say?

  "A woman?" He stepped back, mouth hanging agape.

  Quickly, Jinji called to the spirits, wrapping the knots around her features once more, hiding herself back behind the mask of her long gone brother's face.

  "Just as easily a boy," she said quietly.

  Shouts reverberated down the steps. More voices seeped below decks.

  Captain Pygott shook his head. "There is no time. You must run, Jin. Rhen is inside the city, in the golden palace, you must find him and you must save him. Before any of the Ourthuri knows you are here."

  "But how? What happened?"

  The captain put a finger over her lips, nodding slightly, sadly. A crash sounded above him, the crack of wood splintering.

  "They are about to find us, you must go before they do. I don't know what happened, why the Ourthuri are attacking, but I know the prince is in danger. Please, on my life, you must help him."

  Jinji bit her lips, eyes narrowing to hold in the water about to leak. She nodded, subtle but enough. Yes, she would try her best to save Rhen, to save her friend. She owed him that much for everything he had done for her.

  Captain Pygott reached behind him, closing the wooden door at his back, latching it shut.

  "It won't hold for long. To the window."

  They moved as one, opening the thick glass until the wind whipped Jinji's short hairs. She stuck her head out, noting the ocean a long way below her body.

  She would have to jump.

  Panic stabbed her heart. Her fingers twitched.

  The captain reached out, holding them.

  "Can I see your face one more time?" He asked, softly. She could not deny the plea of a dying man. For she knew in her heart that this was his last stand, his goodbye to the world.

  Pulling the spirit threads, Jinji let the illusion fall. His eyes widened once more, running over the contours of her cheeks, her plump lips, her curvier nose, her feline eyes.

  Reaching up, he cupped her cheek, sighing.

  "What a story this will make," he said.

  Then boom.

  Something heavy thudded into the doors behind them. The wood splintered but did not break.

  No need for words, the captain cupped his hands. Jinji stepped into his palms, taking once last look into his deep blue eyes—swirling with the stories he would never get the chance to tell.

  Another boom.

  And Jinji was gone. Captain Pygott stood, thrusting her body through the window, and Jinji flew, just like in her dreams, until she hit the water with a smack that stung her skin.

  A scream caught in her throat, stifled by the sea.

  A prick stabbed her heart, and she knew he was gone.

  But there was a chance Rhen still lived.

  Pushing her feet, Jinji broke to the surface, taking a deep gulp of air before melting back into the waves.

  Hiding.

  Looking for a place to run.

  A dark shadow caught her eye through the blue—immobile—and she swam, praying for the cover of wood. Another ship or the dock, anything to keep her out of sight from the attacking Ourthuri above
her.

  Breaking the surface of the water, Jinji looked up into rows and rows of metal slabs. She was under the dock, the waves rocking her. She dipped under the water again. It was calmer. Safer.

  Her eyes stung from the salt, but she forced them open, following the shadow of the dock until the ground closed in on her and rocks filled her vision. Every time she tried to surface, a new wave rolled in, pulling her to the side and underwater. Finally, feeling the strength in her limbs start to fade, Jinji swam to one of the columns and hugged her body close to it, inching higher and higher until her grip was strong enough to fight the waves.

  Above the roar of the ocean, she made out voices, but they were foreign words that meant nothing to her. Through the slits in the dock, she saw boots moving this way and that way, coming from nowhere and disappearing just as quickly.

  How would she get away unnoticed? Surely, even in a scene as crazy as this, the men who invaded the ship would be wary of a stranger emerging from the ocean.

  And then, farther to the side, Jinji saw a sight that made her eyes bulge from her head, practically popping free of her skull. The ground, as if by magic, lifted from the sea, swinging and swaying, rising higher and higher into the air. The movement was slow, methodological. Chains, she suddenly realized, spotting the coils attached to the four corners of the platform. Chains were lifting the land.

  Hidden by the dock, the platform lifted out of view, but it didn’t matter. Behind it, Jinji saw another mound of boxes piled high. It was another platform, waiting to fly.

  Suddenly, she had a plan.

  Crazy? Yes.

  But also her only hope.

  Jinji dove back under the water, pulling the elements around her body so it looked blue, just like the ocean. She was a ghost under the surface of the sea, an invisible outline that only the spirits could spot.

  And she swam.

  And swam.

  Pumping her legs, pushing her arms to the side, repeating the motion and fighting the current. Every so often, she popped her head above the water for a mere moment, locating the boxes and moving forward again.

  When she was close, Jinji stopped and surveyed the scene. No one had spotted her, hidden as she was in her illusion. Men took turns holding one box, passing it on, placing it on the platform. A long line of constantly moving parts, until one leader positioned at the very front of the platform shouted something. He wore different clothes—a long cloth draped from his shoulders to the floor, the color of the glowing moon.