Forts Special Edition: Fathers and Sons

by Steven Novak

  Wrapping his hands around the bars, Prince Valkea pushed his face through a slit.

  With a mouthful of endless, jagged, razor sharp teeth he grinned sadistically at Staci. “For you my dear, foul creature that you are, I have made an exception. You see, there’s a question I need answered and I believe you might be just the creature to answer it.”

  In the cell across from Staci, Fellow Undergotten was slowly waking up from a sleep that had been forced upon a weary body that simply could not bear to be awake any longer. The moment his ears had caught the voice of Prince Valkea his attention was immediately piqued. In all the time that he had spent locked up in this terrible place, not once had he heard that awful voice through its dark halls. With his single functioning eye he spotted the back of the Prince standing outside of the children’s cell. Not wanting to alert Prince Valkea to his current state, Fellow remained motionless, listening intently.

  “The doorway that brought you to this awful world that the pale skins so annoyingly refer to as Fillagrou…tell me where it is, little girl.”

  Staci did not answer. It was not because she did not want to, or was defiant in the face of the tyrant Prince, it was because she had no answer to give. In fact, she did not completely understand what he was asking. Everything that had happened thus far was a blur - one long, painful, extremely confusing blur of images fading into each other with no beginning, middle or end, and none of it made an ounce of sense.

  “Don’t you dare sit in silence, little girl. Do not attempt to pretend, for even a second that you don’t understand what I’m asking you. I need to know where to find the doorway that led you here. I need this information quite badly and I can promise you that I will do anything and everything in my power to ensure that I get it.”

  Staci’s jaw quivered uncontrollably and her hand started to shake. The familiar hotness once again crept across her face as her heart kicked into overdrive.

  She managed to mutter out a sad excuse for an answer, “I…I…I don’t kno…”

  “DO NOT PLAY GAMES WITH ME, YOU VILE LITTLE CREATURE! The more you insist on lying to me the more I will ensure that you suffer! Now tell me where the doorway is before I lop your head from your shoulders in an excruciatingly slow manner!”

  Prince Valkea’s booming voice woke Nicky; he immediately pressed his back against the wall, scooting as close to Staci as possible.

  Prince Valkea took note of the little boy, “On second thought, maybe I won’t hurt you, little girl. Maybe I’ll hurt…that one instead. Yes, that’s exactly what I’ll do. It will be the boy who suffers because of your idiotic defiance. In his case though, I won’t make death as simple as a beheading. No, for that one it will be long…and painful…and drawn out. I will ensure that he feels each and every terrifying second of it. There are scientists and scholars in Ocha who would welcome the chance to open up a strange little alien boy and examine what I would imagine are his very unique insides.”

  Frightened beyond reason and unable to answer the Prince’s question even if she wanted to, Staci once again muttered, “I…I…don’t…I…don…”

  “STUTTERING BUFFOON! YOU HAVE PUSHED ME TO THE VERY LIMITS OF MY PATIENCE! You have forced my hand, little girl! With each mind bogglingly frustrating stutter you dare me to prove the truth of my resolve and that is exactly what I intend to do!”

  With one hand the Prince motioned toward the guard at the end of the hall. The enormous, beefy helmeted figure quickly made his way to the Prince’s side, bowed, and hit his chest with his dark gloved hand in a show of respect, strength and loyalty.

  “Guard, take the young boy out back and teach him what happens to those who refuse to answer even the most basic of questions.”

  The guard nodded and motioned to another guard at the other end of the hall, telling him to open the cell door. Before the other guard could pull the lever that would do just that, the voice of Fellow Undergotten screamed, “NO! LEAVE HIM ALONE!”

  Prince Valkea turned toward the injured fish-man with a quizzical, angry expression on his face.

  When he saw the weakened, near death form of Fellow Undergotten, he chuckled softly to himself, “You dare speak to me in such a manner, slave? You? You who can barely stand of your own volition? Were it not for the bars that you’re locked behind to keep you erect, you would no doubt be sprawled across my floor like the sad thing you are.”

  Fellow took a deep breath, gritted what remained of his teeth, and used the bars to pull himself up. Ignoring the pain coursing through his body, he removed his hands and forced himself to stand as tall as he possibly could without toppling over. Every centimeter of his body was wracked with pain, every muscle straining and shaking. Puffing out his chest, he lifted his jaw and stared at the Prince though his one working eye.

  In a shaky, yet surprisingly strong voice he muttered, “I said…leave them alone.”

  Prince Valkea lowered his head, his eyes locked on those of the fish-man behind the bars. His upper lip twitched. “The gall of this creature - the unmitigated gall”, he thought. “Just whom exactly does he think he’s speaking to?” His muscles grew tight with anger, his breathing deepened.

  Prince Valkea’s gaze never turned away from Fellow when he spoke to the terrified children in the cell behind him. “I want you to watch this next moment closely little girl. I want you to remember what happened here this day. Remember it and keep it with you until the next time I come to your cell and ask you the very same question I had asked only moments ago.”

  With a movement remarkably similar to the one that he used to strike down the conjurer, Prince Valkea reached to his side, snatched the dagger from his belt, thrust it through the bars and sank it into the stomach of the wobbly, barely erect form of Fellow Undergotten. The blue skinned fish-man instantly let out a high-pitched squeal. The dagger in his belly pushed his already injured body past its limit. His legs went limp and crumpled underneath him as he toppled forward, crashing to the ground with a heavy thump. Staci shoved her arm between the bars, attempting to reach Fellows’ wilting body.

  A fresh batch of tears welled up in her eyes when she screamed with every ounce of her strength, “NO!”

  Feeling the life draining from him, Fellow crawled toward the bars and reached for her hand. He was not completely aware of where he was or what had happened. The world around him was fuzzy and white and eerily silent. Sounds began to pop out of existence like bubbles on the surface of water. Some unseen force compelled him to crawl toward the bawling form of Staci Alexander. The blood in his body that escaped thought the hole in his stomach pushed its way up and out of his mouth, dripping onto the stone floor.

  Through a wall of hot, sticky insides, he gurgled in Staci’s direction, “It…it’s…okay…”

  Prince Valkea watched the two attempting to reach each other and chuckled smugly underneath his breath. The soft chuckle quickly grew to a more boisterous, full-on laugh.

  After wiping the blood from his hands, Prince Valkea turned to walk away. “Remember this moment, little girl. Watch this creature’s death and remember it. I will return tomorrow, and if you still choose not to have the answers, the little boy will share his fate.”

  With tears in her eyes, Staci stretched her arm to its very limits. When she felt as if she could not possibly stretch her arm any further, she willed it to go just a bit more. She did not know exactly why she was reaching for him. After all, there was nothing she could do to help, and yet something deep inside told her that this was exactly what she needed to do.

  Fellow stretched his arm as far as he could, to the point where his very existence began to fold in on itself, smothered by a thick, blurry gray expanding over everything. One final time he took a deep breath - this time he did not exhale. His body went limp and the gray was replaced by black.

  At the exact moment when Fellow’s arm went limp, the tip of Staci’s finger came into contact with it, and something magical, unpredictable, and quite unbelievable happened.

&nb
sp; Prince Valkea had just stepped through the doorway that led out from the dungeon when a bright white light cascaded across his back, lighting up every bit of the empty space around him.

  He turned around, saw where the strange light was coming from and muttered unbelievingly to himself, “What sort of magic…?”

  The light that filled the small hallway seemed to emanate from Staci’s hand. The unearthly glow grew from the right side of her chest, traveled across her arm, and into her slender finger. As if it were a living, breathing thing of spirit and conscience and mind, it moved from her body into that of Fellow Undergotten. The incredible glow crawled underneath his skin, lighting him from the inside out. Like water seeping through a crack, the light pushed through his open wounds.

  Somehow, beyond the laws of reason and logic and science, the bizarre light healed every sore, cut and bruise. It filled his motionless form with life and gave birth to that which had been dead only seconds before.

  When the light finished its work, it vanished just as quickly as it had arrived, retreating back into Staci’s chest. Because she was not quite sure about what had just happened, Staci pulled away from the bars, feeling empty, staring blankly at her hands through her still damp eyes. Because her legs felt weak, she dropped to her knees onto the dirty stone floor. In the cell across from her, Fellow Undergotten breathed in air once again, cautiously opening his two perfectly functioning eyes.

  *

  *

  CHAPTER 25

  THE TINY RED DIVERSION

  *

  From the crouched position behind a particularly thick patch of red bushes, a frustrated Donald Rondage turned to Pleebo, who was crouched next to him and whispered with a bit of sarcasm, “Now what are we supposed to do?”

  Not more than a hundred and fifty feet away sat two helmeted members of the King’s Dark Guard, watching over the entrance to the second doorway which lead to the land of Tycaria. They sat perched atop massive creatures resembling an ostrich, only these ostriches had legs as thick as large men, dark feathered bodies as thick as horses and six-foot long beaks that curled underneath into a very sharp, very dangerous looking hook. The guards seated stoically on top of the large creatures paced back and forth in front of the doorway. The massive glistening eyes on either side of the creatures’ head moved back and forth with amazing speed, scanning the forest for any kind of movement.

  Once again, Donald interjected, “How in the hell are we supposed to get past those guys?”

  Pleebo looked away from the guards and the huge, angry looking beasts, and ran his hand across the top of his head. Frustrated, he did not have an answer to Donald’s question. He wondered why everyone assumed that he had the answers to any question. He was not an Elder like his grandfather, he could not see things that no one else could. He knew of the prophecy, but he did not know the prophecy, and those were two very different things. Ever since the group started on their little journey, they had turned to him for answers for everything, no matter the importance. It was wearing on him.

  Annoyed at the fact that Pleebo did not seem to have anything to offer, Donald turned to Roustaf, Tommy and Owen, who were farther down the line. “Well?” he demanded hoarsely, aware that he needed to keep his voice down.

  Standing beside Donald, with his appendages pulled halfway inside his shell, King Walcott peeked out of his shell. “I believe that we’ll need a distraction in order to safely enter that doorway, my friends.”

  “Ya, ya…a distraction,” Roustaf chimed in, “One of us has to distract the guards and get them to move away from the doorway…give the others time to high tail it through. The only question is, who here is loony enough to do it?”

  Tommy had been watching the guards intently through a hole in the bushes, while listening to the conversation of his travel mates. The helmeted figures were enormous in stature and appeared to be well armed. Huge lances at least twelve feet long were strapped to the side of the massive beasts and those lances had frighteningly dangerous looking tips. On their backs, the guards carried thick swords. A number of smaller daggers were strapped to various places on their bodies. Behind the soldiers, the doorway to Tycaria seemed little more than a small opening between two large rocks built into the hill. Had Pleebo not told him it was a doorway, Tommy would have never guessed. He wondered if King Walcott would be able to squeeze his massive shell of a body through the skinny opening. No matter how scary the guards, or how small the doorway, Tommy understood keenly that the group needed to keep moving if he were ever going to see his brother again.

  Turning his attention back to his companions he assuredly said, “I’ll go.”

  Pleebo quickly interrupted, “No Tommy, no way…under no circumstances can we can let you, Donald, or Owen be the one to go.”

  Donald and Owen agreed with Pleebo on this point – mostly because neither of them were in any rush to offer up their services in the first place.

  “Any one of the rest of us is expendable. The three of you, though, have to survive and make it through the doorway in order for the prophecy to be realized.”

  Tommy sighed deeply and rolled his eyes in protest. “Look, I’m sorry…but I don’t care about your stupid prophecy. I have to get to my brother, and if no one else here is willing to do it, the…”

  “I’ll do it.”

  Everyone at once turned toward Roustaf.

  “Ya, you heard me correctly…don’t look at me like that, ya scrubs…I said I’ll do it. It only makes sense, right? Pleebs needs to make it through…there’s no way King Walcott over there could ever hope to outrun those Ochan bastards and keep em’ busy long enough for anyone else to get through…the kids can’t go…that only leaves me. So yea…I’ll do it. No problem at all. They look like a couple of crumb-bums anyway…it’ll be a snap.”

  Roustaf rolled up his shirt sleeves. He made sure that the buttons on the shoulder straps of his dirty blue overalls were cinched nice and tight.

  Running his fingers across his bushy mustache, he turned in the direction of the guards. “I may not be as spry as I was a few years back, but I can still zip with the best of em’. There’s no way those two jokers and their raggedy looking Scarbeaks will be able to catch me. Don’t you guys worry about me…I’ll be fine. I can handle these bums…you schmoes just worry about getting your posteriors through that door.”

  Pleebo stared at his minuscule friend with admiring eyes. The two had met years ago, after Roustaf’s home world was taken over by the King’s armies. The tiny little man had been living in the forest on his own for some time when he stumbled across Pleebo. He had been alive, though just barely. Most of his time had been spent evading capture. He had been tired, hungry, confused, alone and running out of the will to go on. Had Pleebo not come across him when he did, Roustaf would probably had not have survived. The two instantly formed a friendship and had been close ever since. Despite being from different worlds, they had lived through similar experiences. It was this that drew them to each other; it was this that made them inseparable. As much as Pleebo did not like the idea of his friend putting his life on the line, he understood that Roustaf’s choice made the most sense. Out of anyone, Roustaf with his great speed, diminutive size, and amazing maneuverability, had the greatest chance of surviving unharmed.

  “Are you sure about this, Roustaf?”

  “Completely. Don’t you go worrying about me Pleebs…I’ll be fine. I’m a pretty tough nut to crack…you know that. Besides, there’s no way that you’re getting rid of me that easily.” Roustaf winked comically at his friend, flashing him a tiny thumbs up, “Just promise me that once those goons are hot on my patoot, you turds will get your butts through that door. I’m looking in your direction, King Walcott.”

  King Walcott grinned appreciatively at the little winged man. “You have my solemn promise, Mr. Roustaf, that I will move these tired old legs of mine as if they belonged to a lad of one hundred and fifty years.”

  Roustaf stared back at him, confused. “O
ne hundred and fif…just how old are you? You know what, never mind…just tell me when I get back. All right…let’s do this.”

  With those words, Roustaf fluttered his wings at speeds much too quick for the naked eye and quickly zoomed forward toward the guards. Dodging in-between trees, around bushes, over rocks, through the branches of trees, he rapidly closed the distance between himself and the two helmeted figures. Like a little red hummingbird, he whizzed past the enormous snout of one of the Scarbeaks, causing it to let out a loud high-pitched squeal and shake violently back and forth. Finally, Roustaf came to an abrupt stop directly in front of one of the helmeted guards.

  With his left hand he reached forward and knocked twice on the side of the metal helmet with a closed fist. “Hey, schmuck! Anyone home in there?”

  The guard turned angrily in his direction, as the large beast he was seated on let out a heavy, frustrated breath through the holes on the topside of its beak.

  Roustaf flashed him a hearty, sarcastic smile, clipped his nose with two fingers while he waved his other hand back and forth in front of it as if to indicate a foul smell. “I’ve never been this close to one of you guys. Wow! I guess what everyone has been saying is true! The absolute worst thing about the Prince’s fortress has got to be the smell.”

  With lightning quick reflexes the guard reached behind him, removed the sword from his back and pointed it at Roustaf. From behind him, the other guard drew a dagger from a holster strapped to his chest. After angrily kicking the sides of his feathered monster, he moved toward the tiny winged red man. In one fluid movement, the burly soldier swung his dagger. Roustaf dodged the blow with ease and took off in the opposite direction at high speed. The pair of soldiers tugged back on the reins of their Scarbeaks, kicked the creatures stiffly in their muscled, feathery bodies, and set off in hot pursuit.