Reign of the Nightmare Prince

by Mike Phillips

  * * *

  The people of the Sacred Grove were camped on the far side of the village. They had carts and livestock, a few tents and some hastily erected structures. There was also an old mine in the cliff wall at the back of the settlement to offer some additional refuge. After wandering about for some time, Rakam finally discovered Timbo there.

  “Good cousin,” said Rakam, entering the light of the fire at the mine’s entrance. “May I have a word with you?”

  Timbo and some other men were seated around the fire, talking in low voices and having a meal. All the same, when Rakam spoke, they were not surprised and acted as if they had been warned of his coming.

  Timbo said. “Ah, yes, Rakam, here at last, is it? Hungry? It is simple fare, but what we have is freely given. Come and share this feast with us. Such are the times that every meal is a gift, and we cannot know if such gifts will bless us again.”

  Rakam had never liked the tone of his cousin’s voice. It was like Timbo thought he knew something others didn’t. Trying to keep the hostility from his reply, Rakam said, “My thanks, but I have come to talk, not to feast.”

  “Talk? You were never the talking sort, my dear cousin. You prove yourself ever the man of action. Tell me, if I make you angry, will you break the roof of this hole I live in?” The others chuckled.

  Impassive, Rakam said, “You might not want your friends hearing what I have to say. Would you like to step outside?”

  “Dear me, it’s far too cold outside for such talk.” Timbo looked about him. “If you would like, perhaps we should move further inside. Anything you have to say these men are welcome to hear. I have no secrets. I think secrets akin to lies, a thing the Almighty forbids the faithful to engage in.”

  Looking into the long, dark tunnel, Rakam thought how little he liked the prospect of being the one furthest from the way out. The implication of lies was some attempt at an insult, but not enough to make him angry. “No secrets? Well, that remains to be seen.”

  “Whatever are you talking about, my dear cousin? If you came here to ask me a question, then fear not. Whatever it is you would like to ask, I will answer to the very best of my ability.” Timbo stood, gesturing to a place on a cut log near two of his personal guards. “Please, please have a seat. We are friends here, all of us.”

  Choosing rather to have his back toward freedom, Rakam turned down the offer, saying, “I want to ask you about the mark, the one you put on their foreheads.”

  Rakam regretted his haste. His actions had been foolish. Torbu should at least have been consulted. He might even have provided warriors for protection. Now Rakam felt in real peril, and there was nothing to do about it.

  “Ah, yes, professional interest, I shouldn’t wonder. The sign is one that was known to you at a time, but perhaps you have forgotten. It found its origin in the Land of the Falling Lakes, the birthplace of our fathers. It is a gift of the Almighty, a sign of His Power and Protection,” Timbo said, pacing, using the sanctimonious tone Rakam hated most. “I am surprised you don’t remember it. But then, you have been away a long time, and people do lose faith when consorting with the savages of the wastelands.”

  “What is the sign made from?” Rakam said levelly.

  “Ah, what a queer sort of question that is,” Timbo replied, but his voice betrayed surprise. “Perhaps you wish to take my dance to your new father-in-law? What a boon to our mighty sovereign that would be, and what a grand trophy for his best loved servant. How that would seal the bonds of love and fealty between you. But you worry yourself needlessly. Now that we have the order, we will do as commanded, and I will bring the spirit dance and my signs of protection to him before long. Don’t you think that best?”

  “What’s in it?” Rakam insisted, ignoring the jeers. “What is it made of?”

  His pacing had brought Timbo before Rakam. Lifting his gaze to meet his cousin’s, Timbo said, “That, Rakam, I cannot tell you. It’s part of a sacred pact between me and the servants of the Almighty. I will not betray that duty, especially not to you, one who has fallen in with heathens and serves a bungling idiot that styles himself king.”

  Rakam batted the hat from Timbo’s head. The splendid thing fell to the floor of the mine with a thud. “How dare you!” Timbo shouted, his men coming to their feet.

  Focusing his mind upon the armor the men wore, Rakam pushed them back to their seats, surprising himself with the strength of his rage as the guards tumbled over backwards. Keeping his focus on their armor, he pinned the men to the ground. “Tell me, Timbo, what is it made of? Do you even realize what you’ve done? You used the poison flower, didn’t you? Tell me. Go ahead, and lie to me!”

  “True, true enough,” said Timbo, placating. He cringed back, holding his hands up as if to protect his face from being struck. “But be assured I use it only for its virtues. With the flower I have opened my mind to experiences beyond imagination. I see, as you were once gifted to see, but so much more. It gives the power to touch the Almighty in His realm. It gives strength in battle. It frees us from our fears.”

  “And how did you discover this? What possessed you to do such a thing?” and as he said the last, Rakam wondered if he had come closer to the truth than he guessed.

  “Do not believe that Rakam of the Falling Lakes is the only Kasisi favored by the Almighty,” Timbo said haughtily, no longer cowering.

  “Favored by the Almighty? How have you been favored?”

  “By the visit of a special messenger,” Timbo said, regaining his stature. He smoothed the front of his garments, the white robes seeming to shine in the firelight.

  “What kind of messenger?” Rakam said, horrified, thinking he knew the answer.

  His face lighting as a child’s when presented an unexpected gift, Timbo said, “A holy messenger, one that shares with me the secrets of Creation. Rakam, if you could only experience the greatness that has been given to me, then you would understand. I have been given answers to questions our people have sought for as long as time itself.

  “This flower you fear is but a tool. Only now have the faithful become worthy to use it. And compared to what else I have learned, it is nothing. Rakam, come, join with me, and we shall build a new kingdom. Together we shall raise a society like none the world has ever seen, a society dedicated to the purposes of the Almighty, not to base desires but something higher, something better.”

  “Timbo,” said Rakam, remembering the Jinn of the desert, the way evil spirits could turn truth to lies, “you are being deceived. You know there are no easy answers. Faith must rule our lives.”

  “Faith? It is by my faith I was selected. The messenger said as much, told me it had long watched the doings of our world. Finding us in need, in great peril against these Shaitani evils, it told me how to defeat them, and we have defeated them. Yes, they are strong and some of us have died, but compared to the glory we bring to the Almighty and to ourselves, these few lives mean nothing.”

  “Like the lives of the children? Are they nothing to you?”

  “Children? What of the children?”

  “The children are sick. You infected them. The flower works its madness in them. They are all going to die, Timbo, because of you!”

  “No, I tell you the flower is harmless. The messenger taught me how to collect it, how to mix it into a balm and place it on the skin. I have used it many times before, and never has anyone suffered harm,” Timbo said, biting his lip as he thought, staring at the floor. His doubt turning to anger, he shouted, “Are these lies, Rakam? Do you mean to deceive me, to take from me these gifts and make them your own?”

  Rakam answered bitterly, “No, the little ones, you infected them. Go and see for yourself. The signs are all there. Maybe for an adult your balm is harmless, but the children are sick.”

  Beginning to pace once again, wringing his hands as he went, Timbo said, “No, you lie. You lie, and you mean to make me Pakali’s lapdog, steal my gifts, and take all the glory for yourself. The desert Jinn possesse
d your soul. You are his servant, aren’t you? You mean to destroy us all.”

  “Let’s see what Torbu has to say about it.”

  Timbo turned again toward Rakam, furious, but his eyes lifted and a broad smile spread over his pinched features. In a snide voice he said, “Greetings, Bantu, you have returned just in time.” And that was the last thing Rakam heard before he was struck on the head and fell into blackness.

  Chapter 23

  “Look out, Captain!” shouted Gibbs. His hand shook as he pointed, the sweat bubbling from his hairline like a spring. “There it is, right behind you.”

  Wary but unperturbed, Captain Smith backed a step away from the man, giving him a sidelong glance as he turned to have a look at the phantom hazard that was, by all accounts, about to have him for lunch. Seeing no immediate threat beyond the somewhat malodorous pit that served as a latrine, Smith returned his gaze to Gibbs.

  “Get out of the way! Can’t you see it?” said the excitable Gibbs in earnest, running to the Captain’s rescue.

  The man’s words were clear, his movements swift and confident. There was no effect in the dilation of the pupils or the color of the face. If not for his behavior, there would be no sign this man was one of the lucky ones. When this stuff hit the street, Captain Smith thought with some amusement and not a little greed, the police would have real trouble on their hands.

  Signaling two armed men that hadn’t been fortunate enough to pick a chip with a red dot, Smith said, “We got another drunk idiot; come get him before he hurts himself.”

  Before Gibbs could make it to Captain Smith, he was taken roughly by each arm and escorted toward the edge of the village where he would be tied to a tree for his own safety. As he was led away, he protested, “No, we have to save him! The toad, the giant toad is going to get Captain Smith. What are you doing to me? Can’t you see the Captain’s in danger?”

  Smitty cringed, already beginning to hear the voices of others saying, “Toad? Giant toad?” Entering a small gathering of the lucky ones, those men that had been allowed to drink the waters of the strange well at the village’s edge, he began to see them change from a pleasant state of intoxication, growing agitated.

  Sure enough, the group began tittering, becoming more and more vocal about the dreaded giant toads. It had been the same when one man had seen spiders, another bears. There had been a near riot due to an imagined pack of angry chipmunks; but that was, of course, perfectly understandable. Angry chipmunks are nothing to fool around about.

  Trying to placate the men did nothing. Soothing words about bunnies and puppies and kitties only served to worsen their fears. It was like talking to a bunch of three year olds, and being a career serviceman, Captain Smith had precious little experience as a nanny. At last he gave up entirely, calling out to the guards, “On your toes, gentlemen, it looks like we got another angry chipmunk problem over here.”

  “Chipmunks? Angry chipmunks?” five men said at once.

  * * *

  “I’m not willing to call it a failure yet,” said Colonel Crenshaw to Captain Smith and Captain Jones as he took his ease on the broad porch of his new house.

  The night was finally clear after all the rain. Curtains of light hung in the sky above, happy colors of every hue, progeny of an angry sun. It had cooled considerably, and the light breeze made wearing the armor, which was often hot, feel pleasant.

  “Let’s see how long it takes them to come out of it.”

  “And, what kind of shape they’re in when they do,” Smitty added.

  “It would be nice if everyone got a chance to unwind a bit. They’ve earned it. I only wish I could give them some proper leave.”

  “It’d be nice if there were a few ladies.”

  “That’s for sure,” Jones agreed.

  “Seeing as the nearest woman is a few dozen light years away, I think you’re out of luck, gentlemen.”

  Jones said, “What about the locals?”

  “The savages? I’m sure they’ll be useful enough when the time comes, not much to look at, mind you; but for the short term, enough to put a smile on a man’s face.” Jones and Smith laughed in agreement. “Take a drink out of that well, and you’d think you had the choice of swimsuit models.”

  Jones said, “Permission to fill my canteen?”

  “Make it two,” Crenshaw agreed. “I don’t think the locals would have kept that well around, lock or no, if there was any real danger.”

  “I’m not so sure,” said Smith, “our metabolism being different as it is. Addiction is one thing, but hallucinatory flashback is another. Let’s wait a day or two until the next go around, okay?”

  “You’re right, of course,” said Crenshaw. “But I was hoping to let everyone have a turn before we took the Capital.”

  “About that,” Captain Jones said, “I’ve been thinking about that trebuchet.”

  “Can’t sleep?”

  “Like a baby, it just seems like we could use a little extra something, a good punch in the nose, something to make their walls not seem so safe, something to take the piss and vinegar out of them.”

  Smith said, “If we had all the time in the world, we could probably make a decent cannon, but what would be the point? Once we’re inside, artillery isn’t going to mean much. It’ll all be back alley fighting then.”

  “Smitty’s right, a few ropes and half a dozen good ladders should be all we need. If that’s going to be our new home, there’s no use breaking down your own walls if you can help it.”

  “No,” Jones went on, “I’m thinking more about the front gate than anything else. If we went back to the transport and cannibalized a few parts, siphoned the fuel from the tank, we might be able to rig a decent flame thrower.”

  “The transport’s all the way back at the mouth of the river,” Smitty said, incredulous. “That would take twice as long as your trebuchet and no guarantees you could get it to work. Hell, you’d probably fry your ass off.”

  “I agree,” said Crenshaw. “Even if you got it to work, you’d have to get it down the road and over the river. Good thinking, but we’re on a schedule. Besides, remember what we’re up against. I don’t think getting to the gate is going to be much of a problem. So, we get there, blow it, and we’re in. A few of the guys go over the walls so we give it to them from both sides and we’re done. Keep it simple.”

  “These magic tricks they got,” Jones began carefully. “That worries me. That voodoo man just about toasted you.”

  “My judgment was impaired. I can’t say we can rely upon what I saw.”

  “The burns were real enough.”

  “Yeah, but there could have been some trick to it.” Crenshaw was thoughtful, his words deliberate. “This place is, this whole god damned place is weird. I don’t know if you guys can feel it, but I sure do, even before I got sick. It’s like the boundaries between what’s real and what’s not are thin. It’s almost like faerie tales come true.” His voice trailed off. They were each quiet for a long while.

  Jones spoke first, “I’m not saying these savages got real juju working for them, but something’s not on the level. They got some neat tricks, all perfectly explainable I’m sure, but I’m just saying if we could put a scare into them it might help us out, show them we’ve got some mo-jo, too.”

  “You mean play god?” Smith said. “Sounds like bad news to me.”

  Colonel Crenshaw said, “Regardless, they believe in these witchdoctors. That in itself is powerful. I know what it looked like, what I thought happened to me, but in and out of it as I have been?” He shrugged. “Well, let’s just not give these savages any more credit than they deserve. We’ll tell the men to shoot the witchdoctors first. Take out the leaders, cut off the head, however you want to put it. It all comes out to the good for us.”

  Shouts rose in the distance, coming to a fevered pitch in moments. “More drunk piss ants,” Smith said with a groan. “Captain Jones”, he said, “Go on now, your turn.”

  Jones frowned bu
t stood, stretching his back and picking up a thick club as he went. “Maybe we should just tie up the rest of them and be done.”

  “At least we could get some sleep then,” Crenshaw agreed, watching him go.

  * * *

  “So, tell me, what do you make of him?” Smith said in a low voice when Jones was out of hearing distance.

  “He and his men have really stepped things up lately. After all his shit, I don’t trust him for a minute, and I would rather be rid of the bastard; but the fact is we need him, and he needs us. He may be coming around. We’re his only real hope, you know. At best, mutiny would mean living the rest of his miserable life in these jungles. Maybe he understands that what happened to all of the equipment wasn’t some plot to be rid of us. Money is a tool more effective for secrecy than any other. Tricks usually end up backfiring; and if this is a trick, then it was a pretty poor one. Think of the loose ends. No, something happened, something unexplained.”

  “Any fool who looks up would know that.”

  “The aurora borealis? Yes, it keeps coming back to that, doesn’t it? If the cosmic disturbances are strong enough, who knows? You’re talking about untested conditions. Trying to predict the effect on our technology is about as good as guessing. What works for our world doesn’t necessarily apply here. That’s the funny thing about an infinite universe. Anything can happen. Everything probably does.” Crenshaw winked. “Anyway, the logic is there. Jones is an asshole, but he’s not stupid.”

  “So you think we’ll be rescued?”

  “I’ve said it before, a habitable planet is the most valuable commodity in the universe. We take the Capital, and then we wait. Maybe in the meantime we set up a few business ventures, mining, pharmaceuticals, that sort of thing.” Crenshaw added with a half-smile, “Drink enough of that well water and the women really will look good, just like back home. No, it’s better than home.”