by Jay Key
“Listen here, Po’l, I love this new attitude—we’ll need it for when we cross Orbius’ path—but the only way that makes sense is for Ishiro and I to head in and you stand guard.”
“I hate that. Are you sure?” asked Po’l in a pleading tone.
“Yes. Right, Ish?”
The emerald-clad ninja threw his hands in the air in what could only be construed as more than mild disagreement.
“So you’re out too?” Duke asked Ishiro’shea.
The ninja silently sighed in response. He’s in.
“Great, let’s make this quick,” said Duke. He turned towards Po’l. “Thanks. I appreciate this. We’ll be as discreet as we are fast. In and out and we’ll report back if our suspicions are correct. For the cause!”
“And your ship, right?”
“Yes, and our ship.”
Chapter 28
A Garden Fertilized with Cotton Candy
“THIS SHOULD JUST ABOUT DO it.”
Duke rammed Betsy’s butt end into the temple door. The giant slab moaned and opened inward. It was completely black inside.
“Voila, little buddy. Yeah, He’j set an intricate system of traps but yet forgot to lock the front door? My ass.”
Duke pushed aside the vegetation that had grown to the point of almost covering the temple entrance. He struggled with a particularly stout branch that had fallen as the door swung open.
“He could’ve at least cleaned up the front porch. Some help?”
Ishiro’shea removed his sword and sliced the stubborn branch into three neat pieces that dropped to the ground.
“You ready to do this?”
Ishiro’shea nodded.
“Ja’a is going to be so pissed,” Duke began, “unless we bring back something of value. And she'll still probably be pretty pissed. So let’s be fast, quiet, and productive.”
Ishiro ignored his friend. Duke remembered that he was, after all, talking to a ninja.
Duke continued to talk, now more to himself than Ishiro’shea. “I guess if there isn’t anything of value to get, we’re just going to have to take it from Ja’a.”
In response, Ishiro’shea grumbled.
“Fine, I’m going to take it from Ja’a. I’ll take the heat. I’m already kinda in the doghouse.”
Duke lit his makeshift torch. Ishiro’shea followed suit as the bounty hunters stepped inside the ancient dwelling.
The flames illuminated what could be best described as nothing. Kinda anticlimactic, thought Duke. The room was cavernous; the walls, floor, and ceiling were all constructed from goliath stone rectangles, all equal in size. There were no ornaments hanging from the walls, no furniture, no dead bodies, and no tasteful rug to pull it all together. It was empty. It was nothing. Well, basically nothing. The lone exception was on the wall opposite of the entry. One of the bricks was marked with sloppily-applied white paint streaks.
“You think that means something? Of course it does. Lift me up.”
Ishiro’shea didn’t budge.
“Okay, fine. I’ll lift you up.”
Duke knelt down and Ishiro’shea placed his thighs on the Nova Texan’s shoulders, straddling his neck. Duke struggled but made it to his feet with his companion on his shoulders, as if they were about to play a game of especially demented chicken fighting.
“Make this quick!”
Ishiro’shea pressed his hands down on the top of Duke’s hat to restore balance.
“Holy hedgehogs! Watch the hat!”
Duke was barely done speaking when Ishiro nimbly vaulted up so that his feet replaced his straddled legs on the bounty hunter’s shoulders. He stood completely erect; Duke grabbed his ankles for additional support, though it was likely unnecessary.
“Can you get it?”
Ishiro’shea reached out and pushed the brick. Nothing. He slapped it with a bit more force. Nothing.
“Hit it harder!” yelled Duke.
Ishiro’shea wiggled his ankles, signaling Duke to let go.
“Maybe I can shoot it?”
But Ishiro’shea sprung from Duke’s shoulders and, in midair, connected with a swift kick to the direct center of the stone. He landed on the ground without the slightest of noises. The stone rattled momentarily. The wall began to slowly suck the brick inward. Sparks danced as the slab scraped against its neighbors.
“A heads-up would’ve been nice, Ish. You coulda dislocated a shoulder.”
The rattling increased at a rapid rate—the entire wall vibrated. It sounded as if an entire truckload of chains had been dropped from a two-story building. The vibration escalated.
“This can’t be good.”
Clouds of dust bellowed from the ground at the base of the wall. The shaking became more intense and the wall began to ascend.
“Or it can be—amazing!” exclaimed Duke.
An entrance to a cave had been exposed. It was pretty standard as far as cave entrances went—not as ostentatious as those in Oscavia, but not as menacing as the Great Tunnels of Zyrma Chuk’nik. But it did feel ancient. And it was dark—as all good caves are. Duke stepped beyond the threshold and extended his torch.
“Nothing. I can’t see a damn thing in here.”
The light provided almost no help in distinguishing the depth or height of the tunnel; if his feet hadn’t been firmly on the ground, Duke would have believed he was floating in the abyss of deep space. He knelt down, holding the light as close to the ground as possible.
“If He’j did set any ambushes here, we’d be goners. I haven’t been in something this dark since—”
Duke broke off suddenly. He gripped Ishiro’shea’s forearm.
“Hey, wait a second. You smell that? Tell me you smell that?”
There was no response from the ninja—as per the norm.
“It smells—” Duke struggled for the right word. “Pleasant?”
He released his grasp on his friend’s arm.
“Like—” Duke again had difficulty coming to terms with his thoughts. “—fresh cut flowers.”
Caves, on the whole, usually lived up to the stereotypes—dark, dank, musty, spooky. This one was dark, yes. Spooky, a bit. But dank and musty, it was not. Duke tilted his chin upward and expanded his nostrils as wide as possible to soak in the enjoyable fragrance. Ishiro’shea did the same, after pulling down the portion of his mask that covered his nose and mouth.
“It’s like a garden that’s been fertilized by cotton candy.”
Duke waved the torch in front of his face, aiding his navigation from one wall of the cave to the other as he searched frantically for the source of the odor. Ishiro’shea followed suit.
Something’s not right, the bounty hunter thought to himself. It doesn’t feel right. It smells right—in fact, it smells wonderful. But too wonderful.
The two men continued to search in the darkness, pressing their hands against the rocky corridor walls. The blaze of the torch flame barely provided enough visibility to see an arm’s length in front of their noses. The darkness seemed to suppress the flame, winning the eternal battle of shadow and light. As they moved down the path, the glow from the torch became even fainter and their visibility was reduced to mere inches. Still the pair trekked on. Even though he couldn’t see Ishiro’shea nor would the ninja break his vow of silence to say it, Duke knew what was going through his companion’s mind: We probably shouldn’t have done this. But Duke pressed on stubbornly. And Ishiro’shea accompanied him faithfully.
“I think we’re gonna find something big like an Orb. A real game-changer. You know the story—rain and rainbows, darkness and dawns, Erontian saké and freshwater mermaids. We’re gonna turn a corner and see the light at the end of tunnel.”
Duke wasn’t wrong. But the bounty hunters did less of turning a corner and more of falling down a steep, jagged incline—landing with a thump as they hit an equally jagged rock pit. But, on the bright side, they did see a light in the distance.
“Told you.”
Duke stood
up and brushed off the dust and debris from his clothes using his hat.
“We should probably check it out, right? I can feel something. Something big. I can’t wait to see Ja’a and Lo’n when we come back with the saving grace of their cause. Hell, even Po’l.”
The ruddy glow was only the length of a standard spacecraft from where they had fallen. It was flickering irregularly. As the two approached the source of the light, they could see it was emanating from an extremely tall archway, reaching a height equal to the entrance into Dre’en but much less welcoming. There was no door or gate. The two off-worlders entered.
“Halt!” boomed a monstrous roar. “You are trespassing on private property and holy ground.”
Duke drew his laser revolver. Ishiro’shea readied his katana. The massive beast that sat before them, its legs crossed within a brightly lit chamber, didn’t even pay attention to the flashing of armaments.
“Getting pretty brave, aren’t you, swamp maggots? Take this—”
The gargantuan creature—as tall as four Jungafallowians and as stout as the entire Trampling Death Robots welded together into one humongous musical nightmare—thrust a glass bottle in their direction with his right hand. His other hand was firmly placed on a bulbous pump. Duke fired. The shot hit the monster’s left bicep. It was as if the giant didn’t even notice it. Before Duke could rattle off another pulse, the monster squeezed the pump. A cloud of pink translucence filled the room, caking Duke and Ishiro’shea in a chalky dust that smelled like… fresh-cut flowers fertilized with cotton candy.
“Did you—” Duke said between coughs, “—did you just douse us with perfume?”
“What?” bellowed the beast in a thunderous voice.
“I said, did you just spray us with perfume? I shot you—and then you make us smell better?”
“You can speak—intelligibly?” asked the monster.
Duke caught eyes with Ishiro’shea and began, “Well, I can.”
“The other one, is he your pet?”
“Well—” Duke began. Ishiro’shea threw a glance as sharp as his katana back at the bounty hunter. “No, he just doesn’t speak.”
“But how is that you can stand this?”
The beast held up his glass holster containing an electric pink fluid.
“It’s quite nice, actually.”
“Oh no. I will now have to kill you and think of a new way to keep you pests out. This worked for so long,” he muttered dejectedly.
“Wait, what? No. Hey, we aren’t pests. Who do you think we are?”
“You come from the swamps, right?” the brute said. He finally seemed to notice his wounded arm. He placed some pressure with his hand and it seemed to stop bleeding almost immediately.
“You think we come from the swamps? No, I’m from Nova Texas. Outer space. Far, far away from this rock. Ishiro’shea here is from Earth.”
“Outer space? You swamp creatures are gaining a sense of humor, I like that. Maybe next—who knows? Soufflés?”
“We are not from the swamp!”
“You seem pretty annoying—which is a trait of the people in the swamp.”
“Yes, but we don’t have the most important trait.”
“And what is that, swampy?”
“I don’t know—how about living in a swamp?”
The giant laughed and the vibrations shook the walls. He placed the perfume canister down gently and then stood up. His muscular frame filled the entire space of the room. His skin was a muted orange and he wore no clothes outside of a strategically placed loincloth made of a furry substance. Duke did not want to find out how he came across this piece of clothing—nor how long he had been wearing it. Bulky gauntlets adorned his wrists and ankles.
“Before I kill you, can you at least tell me what compelled you to explore my home? Call it basic curiosity. To be honest, I haven’t seen one of your types in a while.”
In the full light, Duke could see that the monster had two large lower canines that extended beyond his lip so that when he spoke, Duke thought he was going to put his own eyes out.
“Okay, first off, we aren’t from the swamp. We came here to look for something.”
“What exactly is it that you are seeking?”
“I’m not entirely sure.”
“Not very convincing, swamp man.”
“See, there’s a war going on. We’re trying to help the southern Neprians take out this guy named Ot Vangu.”
“A war going on? Outside my home? I haven’t heard any troops or battles or anything of the sort. I think you’re making this up, pond dweller.”
“Enough with the names, alright? I’m telling you the truth. We are camping out here, next to the swamp—”
“Swamp! I knew it,” the giant roared and reached for a wooden club to his right. He raised it.
Duke grabbed Betsy from his back and uncorked a frustration-filled load. The club splintered and fell limply to the floor. The echo from the explosion drove a stake directly into Duke’s eardrum.
“Hey, that’s a neat gadget. What do you call it?”
“Her name is Betsy,” Duke screamed, still trying to regain his hearing.
“I like Betsy. And I don’t think a swamp man would have a toy like that.”
“You finally believe me?”
“Trial period. But tell me again—why are you in my lair?”
“Look, Mr. Giant—wait, what’s your name?”
“Let me think about that. No one has asked me in so many cycles—I’m not exactly sure.” The behemoth looked a bit embarrassed. He then snapped back and said in a proud belt, “They used to call me the Keeper.”
“The Keeper of what?”
“Of the Sphere of Power.”
Duke and the ninja exchanged glances.
“A sphere?”
“Yes.”
“Of power?”
“Yes, that’s what I said, you odd little thing.”
“So, it’s an orb?”
“Sure, if you want to call it that. It’s around here somewhere.”
The Keeper turned and began to rummage around the floor of his lair. Bottles of his potent perfume, bulky canisters, and odds and ends—all of an ancient patina—were tossed and hurled in the air. Clinks and clanks echoed throughout the chamber.
“Nothing of value, it seems. A bunch of junk. Most of it’s that mustangsen garbage,” Duke said to Ishiro’shea.
Ishiro’shea narrowly avoided being impaled by what could only be described as a hat stand for someone with a cranium the size of a galactic Winnebago and a deeply-rooted affinity for headwear.
“Ish, are you hearing what I’m hearing?” the bounty hunter asked, dodging a gravy boat hurled at a hazardous velocity. “I knew there was another Orb! Oh man, the looks on their faces. I can’t wait. Can’t believe they doubted our hunch.”
“Where could it be now?” the Keeper mumbled to himself.
“Let us help,” the bounty hunter said. “How about we look over here?”
“No, it’s not over there.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
“How about over here?”
Duke and Ishiro’shea ascended a dozen steps that led to a platform full of another hodgepodge of useless objects. They began to dig through the heap of artifacts.
“Be careful. Some of those are pretty important.”
“To who?”
“I can’t remember, to be honest, but I know they’re pretty darn important.”
Duke and Ishiro’shea continued to discard the items at a rapid pace and with a blatant disregard for the preservation of the artifacts.
“Okay, no spheres, orbs, or balls—or anything that could be misconstrued as roundish in nature—up here. Just a bunch of knickknacks.”
Duke kicked the mound. Items spilled over and hit the floor with ringing clanks.
“When’s the last time you saw it?” he asked.
“I don’t know. It’s hard to keep track of time in this pl
ace.”
“All of this junk and not a single clock to be found,” Duke muttered to himself.
“Was it before or after you gave the other sphere to He'j and Jilarian Togg?”
The Keeper halted mid-toss. He looked perplexed.
“What other sphere? And who’s Hodge and Jilarpian Targ?”
“Seriously, big guy? The two dudes that borrowed the first sphere. You know, to save the planet and all that.”
The Keeper began to laugh. “Oh, I get it, a joke to lighten the mood! Very funny. Next you’re going to tell me that they make a toilet compatible for over eighty species. I haven’t laughed like this in a good while.”
Duke and Ishiro’shea did not laugh. It was a few moments before the Keeper realized. His hooting ceased abruptly.
“You’re aren’t serious—are you?”
“Dead, unfortunately. They came here not too long ago—maybe a few cycles back—and borrowed the Orb. I mean the Sphere of Power.”
“Not to my knowledge, they didn’t.”
“That’s what I was afraid of,” Duke said in a dejected tone.
“What?”
“I think you might have been robbed.”
The Keeper let out an audible sigh and plopped down, legs crossed, causing a slight tremor in the room.
“Not again,” he said.
Duke and Ishiro’shea slapped their foreheads with the palms of their hands in unison.
“I’m slightly afraid to ask—but what do you mean, ‘not again’?”
“Sit down, my diminutive pals.”
“It’s that bad?”
“Afraid so,” huffed the monster. “I am the Keeper of the Sphere of Power—a job that I take very seriously.”
“Uh-huh.” Duke expected the worst.
“But it’s a job that I might not have been the best choice for. I’m a mover and shaker, deep down. I want to be out there—you know, doing stuff.”
Ishiro’shea proceeded to sit down and prepared himself for a lengthy yarn. Duke followed suit, albeit less gracefully.
“Did you know that I was once an artist?”
“Considering we literally stumbled upon you a few minutes ago... No, we weren’t aware of that amazing piece of trivia.”
“I was. I dabbled in a lot of media—I liked mixed media; some found objects here, some painting there, maybe even a touch of sculpting. I was quite good. Had a few retrospectives at the local museum, way back when.”