by Steven Novak
General Gragor had seen the Prince angry many times during his years of service to the King. He had met his father years before the Prince was even born and considered himself to be as good a friend as the great King Kragamel ever allowed. He had been present when the boy was pulled from his mother, had seen him take his first steps, and had watched with mild disgust when his father left the fate of Fillagrou in the young Prince’s less than capable hands. The Prince had always had a temper. Now however, as he watched the hot-headed young man pace back and forth in the throne room, hands on his hips and head sunk low, General Gragor noticed something more pronounced than the usual temper to which he had become accustomed to all these years. The Prince was scared - definitely scared and confused.
“Sire, I understand it is not my place to ask…but is something bothering you?”
Prince Valkea turned and stared into General Gragor’s eyes with a cold seriousness meant to mask his true confusion. “You’re right…it is not your place, underling.”
General Gragor recognized the anger in the young man’s voice and the false sternness on his face. “Many apologies, Prince. I have overstepped my bounds.”
“Indeed you have. Were it not for your undying loyalty to my family for more years than I care count, I would surely strike you down where you stand.”
“Of course, Sire.”
“In the future, I suggest that you consider your words carefully before they escape your gaping maw…Understood?”
“Of course, Sire.”
General Gragor’s dislike for the young prince ran deep. He found the boy annoying and prone to rash emotional judgments. The Prince also relied too heavily on his subordinates, having little to no actual knowledge of how to reign over an empire or properly conduct a battle. His father, on the other hand, was a ruler that General Gragor admired deeply. The King understood the necessity for violence, and always knew where and when to properly utilize it. King Kragamel was the kind of leader that did not have to convince anyone of his power. It was obvious. It was there for all to see, and not a soul in all of Ocha would dare question it. The King’s strength had been earned, rather than given to him. It was because of his oath to the great King Kragamel, and his love for the Ochan people that General Gragor stood beside the boy Prince. Were it a different time, place and situation, he imagined that he would have treated the young Prince Valkea much differently.
The Prince shuffled across the room and slumped onto his throne. The sharp nails of his fingers tapped lightly on the armrest as he took a deep breath to calm himself. “The children, Gragor…the children…they…”
As he spoke, his eyes drifted casually to a window on the opposite side of the room. His people had enslaved entire worlds. One by one they had beaten them down, had captured and killed their kin, raped the land of all it had to offer and had forced entire races to do their bidding. All of reality had become a great and glorious monument to the strength of the Ochan race.
It was beautiful – all of it so very beautiful.
Now though, the existence of one tiny girl unceremoniously brought to light the very real possibility that it could come to an end. The Prince understood that he could not tell General Gragor what the girl had done. General Gragor was a loyal servant, but his loyalty lay first with the King. If he knew that there was even a chance that prophecy could be true, General Gragor would inform his father. The Prince could not allow his father to know – not yet. No, he had to handle this himself.
“Of which children do you speak, Sire?” General Gragor questioned. “What has happened?”
“Nothing. Nothing has happened. I do have something… something very important that I need you to do for me, though, Gragor…now that you mention those children.”
“Of course, Sire.”
The Prince leaned forward in his seat and stared squarely into his General’s eyes, “Kill them. Have them both killed immediately. In fact, while you’re down there, kill every single solitary being in the dungeon, including the guards. If it breathes, I want it dead by daybreak.”
General Gragor found this to be an odd request. The Prince had ordered the death of his own men before – sometimes on little more than a whim – but the urgency in his voice was different this time. Something must have happened. Something must have happened to scare the boy Prince badly. He reminded himself not to put too much thought into it though. The children were going to die, just as they should have when he had first brought them back to the fortress and that was all that mattered.
“I will take care of it myself Prince.”
General Gragor wrapped his hand around the sword at his side, running his fingers along the thick, textured leather of the handle with a giddy anticipation brought on by the idea of putting an end to the bothersome, strange little creatures.
The General walked towards the door but stopped when Prince Valkea asked, “Gragor…before you leave…What was the news you wanted to relay to me?”
“Of course, Sire. I almost forgot.”
The Prince slid back in his chair and sighed. “Hopefully the news is good…I’m not sure I could deal with it at the moment if it were otherwise.”
“Indeed it is, Sire…extremely good.”
The excitement in his voice caused the Prince to perk up just a bit. For General Gragor to show emotion of any kind was nearly unheard of. In all the years that the Prince had known him, his expression remained frozen, stoic and serious. The Prince often questioned whether or not he had emotions at all.
Sitting at the edge of his throne, he leaned toward General Gragor. “The doorway? Have your men found the doorway?”
“No, not yet, Sire…but they have discovered something nearly as important, if not more.”
Prince Valkea could scarcely imagine what could possibly be better than the discovery of the hundredth doorway. His armies had won every major battle there was to win. Each and every one of their enemies had been beaten and conquered - some had been wiped from existence altogether. Every square inch of land in the known universe had been claimed in the name of Ocha. Besides the last undiscovered doorway to the last unconquered world, what was left?
Then, as if he were slapped in the face, it came to him, “Tipoloo…you’ve found Tipoloo.”
The Prince smiled fiendishly and General Gragor grinned. “Indeed, Sire. Not only have we found it, but the invasion has already begun.”
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CHAPTER 29
SLAUGHTER OF THE INNOCENTS
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The pale-skinned children from the hundredth world had brought with them an infectious feeling of possibility that permeated the streets of Tipoloo. It slid under every doorway, through every crack, into every home, and filled the city’s inhabitants with a wonderful, warm feeling to which they were not accustomed. This was an odd feeling, a new feeling, a beautifully strange feeling that some of the younger children, those who had been born inside the city walls, had never felt. On every corner of every street, large groups of vastly different species talked amongst themselves, hopeful smiles spreading across their tired, beaten, war-torn faces.
It appeared as if the prophecy was more than just words. It had turned to flesh and blood. It was real and could put an end to the incredible hardship they had come to know as simply being alive.
As Zanell turned the corner and headed toward her grandfather’s dwelling, she passed a family of Huerzo Snubs, living outside a tiny opening which had been cut into a section of the city’s earthen walls. In many ways, the four foot tall Huerzo Snubs resembled ladybugs. Their enormous oval-shaped bodies seemed impossibly large for their spindly legs and yet they managed to move with an inspiring gracefulness. This was mostly due to the aid of a pair of nearly transparent wings attached to their backs that constantly flapped, enabling them to maintain their balance. The mother Huerzo sat quietly on a rock, watching her two young children playfully wrestle in the street just a few feet away. Each time one of the children was knocked over, it roll
ed through the dirt like a marble on a sidewalk, its tiny legs flailing wildly in the air. When Zanell passed by, the mother Huerzo looked at her, smiling a timid smile in a way only a Huerzo could do justice. Zanell had not seen a smile of this nature on her face in a very long time, not since her mate had been captured above ground a few years back while searching for food with a gathering party. The tiny bit of happiness in the mother Huerzo’s expression momentarily warmed Zanell on the inside. How uncommon, how truly wonderful and uncommon. This was exactly what the boys’ appearance had brought to Tipoloo. This was exactly what Tipoloo needed.
Zanell had noticed similar smiles all day long. In fact, the smile of the mother Huerzo became the rule rather than the exception. She passed by a small group of four or five Ricardian children. Zanell overheard them whispering to each other about the way Tommy Jarvis had blasted a massive hole in the city’s wall just a couple of days earlier.
“I heard that he blew a hole in the wall and vaporized four of the King’s guards with it!”
“Shut up…that’s not what happened…it was seven of the King’s guards! Afterward he opened another hole in the ceiling and flew off into the forest. I think he’s on his way to take on King Kragamel one-on-one!”
“Now you’re the one who needs to shut up. He can’t fly!”
“Can, too! I saw it with my own eyes!”
“You did not see anything, liar. You were with me when it happened!”
“Well…whatever happened, I know that crusty old King is in for a serious beating when Tommy and Pleebo get hold of him!”
The Ricardian race was well known for their wonderful storytellers and wonderful exaggerators. Ricardian children, on the other hand, were known to take exaggeration to unbelievable levels. Zanell smiled slightly, laughing a bit on the inside at the sweet, overzealous innocence in their words. At the same time she could not really blame them, because she felt it too. She believed in her grandfather, she believed in the prophecy, and because of this she believed in the possibility that Tommy, Donald and the others might be the catalyst that ushered in a bright new world. Hidden deep beneath her hopefulness, though, she was worried about her older brother. Zanell had never been away from him for more than a day and she already missed having him around. From the day their mother died, Pleebo had been more than just a brother to her. In many ways he was her parent and even more importantly her best friend. If anything happened to him – well, she simply would not have any idea what to do with herself.
If only her grandfather had let her go with them, then she could watch him. Then she could keep an eye on him and make sure that he was safe.
Zanell opened the door to her grandfather’s dwelling, stepped inside and closed it gently so as not to frighten him. “Grandfather?”
She set a bowl of Fluto root that she had brought with her on a small table nearby, along with a goblet of water. The room was dark, the air stuffy and stale. It smelled of age and experience and knowledge. From his bed in the corner of the room, the Elder’s tired, creaky body pushed and pulled itself slowly up, as each of the ancient creature’s joints cracked and popped.
Zanell quickly made her way to his side and propped him up with pillows. “You need to eat, Grandfather. I’ve brought you some dinner…Fluto root…your favorite. I even mashed it up for you so you wouldn’t have any problems getting it down.”
“Thank you, Zanell,” the old creature said.
Once she was convinced he would not tip over, Zanell turned back to the mashed Fluto root that she had placed on the table. The Elder grabbed her skinny arm and turned her towards him .
“What is it, Grandfather?”
The old creature touched the side of her face; his eyes were half closed, his lips forming a dry, dusty, ancient smile. “Don’t worry about the root, Zanell. Save it for yourself. I won’t need it.”
“What? What are you talking about? It has been too long since you last ate grandfather…you need to keep your strength up.”
With his bony hand, he gently ran his fingers through her stringy white hair. “You look so much like your mother, Zanell. Both you and your brother…you both look so very much like Lanell. I was so proud of her…so proud of the Fillagrou she grew up to be. You’ll…. you’ll make me…equally as proud, Zanell. In fact, you already have. I only wish…that I could be alive to see the wonderful things your future will bring…”
Zanell tried to ignore her grandfather’s words. He had often complained about his age, regularly making jokes or little comments about how much time he had left to live.
She convinced herself that this was exactly what he was doing now. “Shut up, Grandfather…you’re going to be around for a long time. You’re as healthy as a Subertivean Ox.”
The old creature sighed deeply. “Every journey comes to an end Zanell.”
“What are you talking about? You look fine. You’ll eat something and you’ll feel much better, like always. Stop talking like that.”
Reaching up slowly with both hands, the Elder placed them softly on either side of her face.
With a half sad, half-contented smile he looked directly into her enormous red eyes. “There is a wonderful beauty in endings, Zanell. Were it not for the pain of endings, we would never experience the exquisite hopefulness that can come only with a new beginning.”
Suddenly Zanell no longer thought her grandfather was simply complaining for the sake of complaining. Every crease and wrinkle in his face screamed of stern seriousness. He knew something that she did not. A lone tear slipped from her eye, rolling down the side of her soft, drawn skin. Her thin lips quivered as she tried to formulate words but she heard only the sound of her increased breathing.
Pulling her closer, her grandfather kissed her gently on the forehead. “I need you to run, Zanell. I need you to run to the southern passage and keep running until you’ve entered the forest. I need you to do this right now, my dear.”
“Grandfather…I…I don…why?”
“Have faith in my words…this one last time. Go…go and don’t look back.”
Almost as if on cue, the ground beneath Zanell’s feet shook violently, sending her careening into a nearby wall. A few seconds later the ground shook again – this time even more aggressively. The blue burning candle in the corner tipped over and fell into the dirt, smothered into oblivion. Zanell forced herself back onto her feet and quickly rushed to her grandfather.
Wrapping her arms underneath him, she tried to lift him from his bed. “SOMETHING’S WRONG, GRANDFATHER! COME ON, WE HAVE TO GO!”
The Elder’s body slumped like a heavy, useless rag doll. Even if the ancient creature had desired to move there was no way he could ever hope to run. To escape what was coming was not his fate and he knew this.
Using what little strength that remained in his tired body, he pushed her away . “No! I can’t go anywhere, Zanell! This is exactly where I’m supposed to be. You have to trust me! You have to run, now!”
Zanell wiped away the torrent of tears flowing from her face as the ground rumbled yet again. This time thick chunks of dirt fell from the ceiling. “NO! I WON’T LEAVE YOU! I CAN’T!”
Again she reached for her grandfather and again the old creature pushed her back. Suddenly the city shook with such incredible force that it sent her falling. She slammed against the creaky wooden door as massive amounts of dirt and stone fell from the ceiling, a few of the larger chunks hitting the top of her head.
The entire room was covered in a thick brown mist. “GRANDFATHER!”
From somewhere inside the cloud of dirt came the Elder’s far away voice. “RUN ZANELL! TO THE SOUTHERN PASSAGE! GO NOW!”
As she attempted to stand, another violent shake caused Zanell to roll through the door and into the street. Everywhere around her the inhabitants of Tipoloo were frightened and screaming, scattering in every direction without rhyme or reason. Some seemed to be looking for shelter, some for family and some for weapons. Near the end of the street the ceiling collapsed vic
iously, as if a bomb had been set off somewhere above. The head of an enormous gray beast blasted through the earth and slammed into the city floor, chomping away every ounce of soil in its path with its massive open mouth. It swallowed the dirt it had just torn away, shook its head from side to side wildly, pounding against either side of the street in the process. The massive cranium was close to the ground; excess dirt and sand blowing from its nose. Opening its gigantic mouth, the terrifying thing let out a growl so ear piercingly loud that the entire street vibrated. Zanell immediately covered her ears, as she backed away from the growling, monstrous beast. As quickly as the enormous head arrived, it shot back into the sky leaving a gaping hole in its wake. The city of Tipoloo looked like a war zone. Mounds of dirt and rock continued to fall from the tunnel ceiling. Clouds of grainy, thick sand enveloped Zanell, making it impossible for her to see anything that was more than three feet away. More crashes, shakes, and noise rose from inside the destructive cloud. No doubt these sounds were the result of other massive holes being opened up by equally angry beasts at various other points throughout the city. The incredible clatter drowned out the horrified voices of the city’s inhabitants; communication of any kind was no longer a viable option. The sounds, the sights, and the harsh reality of what Zanell witnessed was too much for her to process. Everything was happening fast. She had seen battle before. She has seen the dead and injured, but never in Tipoloo, and never on this scale. It all seemed unreal.
She managed to get to her feet just in time as armed guards with weapons drawn, came through the incredible hole the creature’s head had opened. A few of Tipoloo’s inhabitants grabbed clubs or crudely made spears and attempted to engage the guards in armed combat. They were no match for the well-trained, massive bodied, angry and determined soldiers.