Reign of the Nightmare Prince

by Mike Phillips

  “The word you speak to name your enemy means nothing to me, but by other signs I perceive that which you think to be the spawn of evil spirits.”

  “Yes, corrupt people twisted by demons, not only different like your culture from mine, but wicked in ways that no man or woman would be.”

  “Like the desecration of the dog-stone and the tree, the wiping clean of the village from the land?”

  “Yes.”

  Sachem said now in a serious tone, “Though we have terrible enemies of our own, there is no story such as this known to my people. This is something entirely new to us, so I think I should return home as quickly as I can.”

  “How will you go? Is it safe?”

  “There is a trail on the far side of the mountain, a way back to my village. Two or three villages may still remain.”

  “Be wary, an enemy will watch the roads.” Rakam embraced Sachem, as was the custom of his people. “Goodbye, then. I have great sorrow at our departing.”

  “Goodbye, my friend. Remember what my uncle said about the remainder of your journey. Take care in the desert. Bring as much water as you can carry. Beware of serpents.”

  Rakam was about to speak, but Sachem put on a grave face and held up his hand, saying, “Travel always in the direction of the setting sun, out of the mountains and through the desert. When you have passed the grasslands beyond, you will come to a great river, wide as a lake. Only the young can see to the other side. Follow the river to the sea. If you travel up the coast your homeland will not be so far off.”

  “Sachem,” Rakam said wryly, “and here I thought you weren’t listening.”

  “A wise man may choose the appearance of one thing, yet really be another. Perhaps that is a lesson a Kasisi may find of value.”

  Smiling, Rakam gave a slow bow. “Well said, my friend.”

  “Yes, goodbye. Live a long and prosperous life, Rakam. If your Almighty and good fortune allow, perhaps we will meet again.”

  Chapter 3

  Not wanting to sleep in the haunted mountains even once, Rakam continued his long voyage to his homeland immediately. It proved a lonely journey. He found no villages or inhabitants all the while. The forests continued to be empty.

  Traveling to the brink of the desert, he came upon a river. It was broad and swift, set within the winding path of a shallow canyon. The walls of the canyon were banded in all the colors of the setting sun, a sight beautiful to behold.

  Such places were often set aside for worship in the heathen lands, and as Rakam came to the canyon’s edge, he hoped he might witness some of their paintings. At least then he would know there were people in the land, or once had been. But he was disappointed once again. Not a single mark made by man was to be found.

  Following the river’s course, Rakam spotted a likely spot to climb out of the flowing water on the far side, a place that had an odd sort of washout. He tossed a dry stick into the swirling liquid to gage how fast the flow of water was. It was fast, but not as fast as the river of his village when the rains came.

  Satisfied with his calculations, Rakam leaped in. The water was colder and deeper than he expected, and he was borne quickly by the current as he pumped his arms and legs toward the far side. The water skins he carried were heavy, and he thought, with much chagrin, that he should have emptied them before jumping into the river. All in all, Rakam drank nearly as much water as he carried before pulling himself onto the muddy bank, exhausted.

  Stiff but refreshed, once rested Rakam was eager to be on his way again. But what he found on the other side of the bank made him curse his luck. There was a stench of carrion on the wind, and around the carcass of some large animal were three river dragons. The three were hungrily devouring the carcass; and as he saw them, they also saw him. They raised their long snouts and sniffed him menacingly, making a hiss-like growl deep in their throats.

  Slowly, Rakam gathered his things, preparing himself for flight. The river dragons didn’t take kindly to the movement, and they came toward him, their squat, flat bodies longer than he was tall. Just one of these dragons would be a danger to him, no less three. They were powerful and quick; and though flying back into the river was really his only means of escape, he knew the river was no feasible solution.

  The dragon on the far left was smaller than the others and was blocking an easy route. Fading to the right, Rakam made his move. The three dragons reacted as one, falling for his deception.

  Pushing off with his right foot, Rakam stuck his spear into the head of the smallest dragon and put his left foot on its back, launching himself away. The others were after him in a moment, but he had gotten the head start he needed.

  From stories of the elders, the best way to escape this enemy was to take a winding path, to run this way and that as the rabbit did. Rakam used rocks and scrub bushes to put obstacles between himself and the pursuit, all the while making his way to an outcropping of rock some fifty paces away. With all his might he threw his pack and water skins onto the rocks and leaped to safety, just avoiding the snapping maw of the largest pursuer.

  But, then, as he lifted his legs over the top and took a seat, elated in his victory, he felt a sharp pain in his back. Standing quicker than he would have thought his body capable, he clutched at this stabbing affliction, finding the writhing body of a serpent.

  Pulling the squirming attacker free of his body, he threw it down to the dragons. It lashed out as soon as it hit the ground, but quickly found shelter in the rocks. Safe for the moment, Rakam pulled off his shirt, knowing what he would find there. Two small holes were seeping blood.

  * * *

  An angry sun burned in the sky, chasing the sullen clouds into exile, showing its mastery over the land and everything that lived upon it. Water all but disappeared from the world. The ground dried and cracked, becoming a wayward dust upon the wind. Every step was an agony of heat and pain. The serpent’s poison coursed through his veins and ate away his flesh. It stole his mind.

  It was all Rakam could do to keep himself alive. His art held no medicines in this desert. Besides, his people knew little of a serpent’s poisons. He occupied himself by eating and drinking, always following the sun to the place of its rising, hoping someone would find him and help him.

  Again and again the scene played in his mind--the burning village, the sacred writings of the Losli destroyed, the river dragons, and the serpent’s sting. He was exhausted and lost, destroying and being destroyed by an invisible enemy, an enemy that thirsted for destruction alone, to waste and ruin all that was good.

  Sleep was lost. The trail was lost. Rakam knew nothing of time or distance. He kept going only because by traveling, by the stepping of his feet, he felt more pain. The pain was his savior. At last he could walk no more. He fell to the ground and knew death would soon come.

  All at once the sweetest taste came into his mouth, like cane sugar cut fresh from the field and sucked raw from the stalk. The taste then went bitter. His stomach knotted and churned. He vomited.

  Again and again he spilled the contents of his guts upon the dirt, the convulsions taking his arms and legs, his face falling into the spewed pool beneath him. Rakam managed to roll onto his shoulder to keep breathing. His muscles tensed, cramped, freezing him like a corpse.

  The angry sun went black. He was blind.

  “Rakam?” a stern voice said. “Rakam!”

  “Yes,” he muttered weakly.

  “Rakam, I have things to tell you.”

  His reply was not spoken but understood, “What things? Who are you?”

  “I am the one who saved you from death.”

  “Not so, I cannot move. The carrion eaters of the world are many, and in this place I am a most welcomed feast.” The voice laughed heartily, and Rakam judged, with an evil intent. “Who are you?”

  “You are not dead.” At the words, Rakam’s suffering ended. “I sent the snake to bite you. I would not let it kill you.”

  “But why…?”

  “W
hy send the snake? My need is to speak with you, my son.”

  “Your son? I may not be your son. Yes, I think it is most definitely not so. You are some spirit of these lands, a jinn of the desert, perhaps.”

  “No, I’m not only of the desert but over all realms I have dominion. I’m the one who called you. I’m the one who sent your visions.”

  “That is a lie. I know it. My visions were never like this.” As he spoke he remembered the times he had been touched by the Almighty for some purpose, the times the visions had come on their own accord, the times when he had bent his will to see into the future. Never were the visions so tainted by evil.

  “Ah, maybe you are wise, have become more than what you were through my gift. A man cannot survive the snake unchanged. But that is another matter. We have business to discuss, you and I.”

  “No.”

  “Don’t deny me yet. Don’t shun me because of who I am, not in all purposes am I opposed to your True Master. Listen to me, and judge for yourself.”

  “You are trying to trick me, to tempt me.”

  “Yes, but suffer me to tempt you then. By me you are to survive. My servants are coming to save you. They are not far away.” The voice laughed again. “Your wish to see the Losli will be granted, for now the name truly belongs solely to the creatures and not the people that once possessed them.”

  “What?”

  “You wished to see the Losli. They were my people.”

  “You are a heathen god then? A devil?”

  “The name doesn’t matter. Yes, if it pleases you, perhaps I am a devil. But you will do a devil’s work for your own salvation.”

  “No, I refuse.”

  “If you refuse, your people will die.”

  “No,” Rakam begged.

  “As proof I will grant you a vision, a sign that what I say is true. I will set a fiery messenger in the sky. By its torment you will know me true.”

  “And what must I do in return?”

  “All that I ask is that you pray for me, at all the proper times, to your Master.”

  “No deal, I refuse.”

  “What? You would suffer such malice that you have already witnessed to be visited upon your own people? You would save yourself to sacrifice them?”

  “The fate of my people depends upon our faith and the mercy of…” he said, invoking the Sacred Name of the Almighty. And at the speaking of the name, Rakam could feel the power of the other lessen. “They will not live or die by your say. But tell me your name, and I will pray for you, as I pray for the salvation of all His Creation.”

  The voice laughed a cruel laugh. “Clever boy, but there is power in a name as you know. How would you control me? What influence would you boast?”

  “None, you mistake my purpose.”

  “Really?” The question was snide.

  “When I pray for you, I will pray for the spirit met in the desert.”

  “Then, we have a bargain.”

  “There is no bargain. I will pray for you now no matter the price.”

  “You are a stubborn man. But I wish to pay for my wickedness, so I will tell you my news anyway. The Shaitani are not of this world. They have magic that is beyond anything you can comprehend. They will murder all of your people, wipe them clean from the world as if they never existed.”

  “Then what good is this knowledge of yours? What can we do?”

  “Escape them. Live in secret places.”

  “Tell me more. I still don’t understand.”

  “Your time is up. Good bye, Kasisi.”

  The darkness parted. Rakam could see the blue sky, the burning sun red as blood. He was being carried on the back of some giant beast. There must have been hundreds. He could hear them calling out to each other.

  Screaming like a carrion beast, a streak of fire ripped across the sky. It was burning, pulling a tail behind it. Then something strange happened. Flowers, beautiful white flowers bloomed. The fire was extinguished.

  Something glinted brightly, lighting the horizon, like the sun shining on water. It was too far away to touch, yet he knew it to be immense. Rakam watched the thing drift to the ground, then collapsed into sleep.

  Chapter 4

  The flowers were enchanting. With delicate petals and a unique shade of blue, they were like nothing else. From the time Racesh happened upon them while hunting, he knew that he wanted them. They were just what he had been looking for.

  “Have you ever seen anything so beautiful?” Racesh asked his brother as he inspected the patch where perhaps thirty or more flowers were in bloom. “Do you know what they’re called?”

  “No,” replied his brother Kaena with a snort, “what do you want them for?”

  “Oh, brother of mine, something very special, very special. If only I can find the perfect one.”

  “You’re going to give them to a girl, I suppose.”

  “Not just any girl,” Racesh said brightly, “Nakala.”

  Kaena laughed heartily, saying, “What good will that do you? Better men than you want to marry her, and plenty of them.”

  “But she hasn’t said yes to any of them.”

  “Not yet, you mean.”

  “That’s exactly right, not yet,” answered Racesh, smiling in a sly sort of way.

  “And, you think it’s going to be you?”

  “Well, yes, of course, I do. She’s waiting for me. I’m her destiny.”

  “What happened to your other destiny, the one from Small Rock Village? And, what about the one who makes pots? What was her name? You have had so many destinies lately it’s hard to keep track.”

  “Don’t be jealous. When Nakala and I are happily married, I’ll find you a cousin to have for your wife.”

  “Right, well, good luck,” Kaena said sarcastically.

  “Don’t worry, she won’t be too skinny.”

  “Thanks, I can’t wait until you take care of everything.”

  “I have a plan, a good plan, a perfect plan.”

  “There’s nothing new about giving women flowers.”

  “Listen, and you might learn something.” Racesh stepped away from the patch of flowers and put an arm around his brother’s shoulder. “What we have here is something that no one in our village has ever seen.”

  “And, how do you know that?”

  “Because I have never seen them, and you have never seen them.”

  “That doesn’t prove that no one else….”

  Racesh smiled broadly and interrupted, “That’s good enough for me. The point is these flowers are very rare and, therefore, very special, perhaps even enchanted if looked at from the right point of view.”

  “The right point of view,” Kaena grumbled.

  Ignoring his brother, Racesh went on with his explanation, “Women like to feel special. So now that I know where these very special flowers are, I will bring one to Nakala each time she goes to her bed, and I will say sweet things about her, tell her how special I think she is, even more special than these flowers that no one else can find. So when she sleeps, she will dream about me.”

  “You think that’s going to be good enough? For Nakala? You’re really out of your mind this time.”

  “All I have to do is find the right one,” Racesh answered confidently. He returned his attention to the flowers, inspecting them one final time before making his choice. Some of them had been overgrown by mushrooms and were dry and sickly looking. They weren’t at all attractive. The first one had to be perfect. At last he settled upon one that was the correct size and shape and shade to be the very first specimen of its kind in the village. Triumphant, he announced, “And, this is it.”

  Eagerly Racesh dropped his hand to the base of the plant. The stem was thick and waxy, and there were rigid veins with little nodules on either side. When he plucked the flower, several of the nodules burst and sent small, needle-like thorns into his palm and fingers. With a gasp of pain, he dropped the flower.

  “Look,” he said, incredulous of the blo
od, cross as he sucked the wound.

  The thorns hurt more than any splinters his rough hands had felt before. His skin was positively on fire. The more he tried to dig the thorns out, the farther the barbs dug into his hand and the worse the pain became. Finally, he had to give up or pass out in the attempt.

  “Do you want me to cut them out with my knife?”

  “No, thank you,” Racesh said quickly. His hand was already swollen and had turned a bright red.

  “Look, it’s poison,” Kaena pointed to his brother’s hand, laughing.

  “I’ll just have to put it in a bowl, that’s all. Plenty of flowers have thorns. A woman’s beauty is like that, not that you would know.”

  As Kaena made a deferential grunt, Racesh looked the flower over once again, careful not to suffer the same hurt a second time. He noted where the nodules had burst, and he slowly and carefully lifted it. Nothing happened.

  “Look, there are no more thorns here.”

  “All right, all right, so you have your stupid flower. Can we go hunting now? I’d like to have something to eat before I turn to a stick.”

  “No chance of that happening soon.”

  * * *

  “Pappy? Pappy, come quick!” shouted young Petala.

  One of the swiftest runners in the village, the girl crossed the distance from the great river to the Kasisi’s stone house in moments. The old man failed to react with similar excitement to her calls, failed to even acknowledge her presence. Breathless, Petala began knocking savagely at the frame of the open door, neglecting the courtesy of not looking inside as she waited for a reply.

  “Well, now, what is it, my dear?” Mabetu called from his kettles.

  A young man ran over from the next house, catching up to his sister only moments after she had raised the alarm. “Petala? What is it, Petala?” Kolojo asked as he met her at the doorway.

  “A man has taken sick down at Black Water Marsh,” Petala replied between breaths. “It sounds like he has the flower sickness.”

  Looking up from his work with an expression of great concern, old Mabetu dropped the ingredients he was adding to the brew and said, “Oh, no, I’ll come right away.”