Forts Special Edition: Fathers and Sons

by Steven Novak

  Hunkered down next to him, just inside the tree line and out of sight from the soldiers, were the rest of the motley bunch. An aging King and his small band of war-weary soldiers, a local from a race that practiced non-violence, a tough guy who was just barely six inches tall, and saviors from another world who had not yet entered high school hardly seemed an intimidating force. Off in the distance and behind the Ochan soldiers, lay an enormous lake filled with dirty, murky, greenish-gray water. At one time the lake had been a smallish pond. After it was discovered to be the doorway leading to Tycaria, the nefarious King Kragamel had ordered it dug open until it was large enough for Ochan forces to pass through in massive numbers, which was exactly what had happened. Once the Ochan army had been able to move into this new world freely, it had been only a matter of time before the land of Tycaria was overrun.

  Receiving no response, Donald spoke up again. “Well, what are we supposed to do now…anyone? It’s a serious question. No offense to your soldiers, SLOW-amennes, but even with their help, I don’t think we stand a chance of taking those dudes in a fight.”

  Annoyed, King Walcott quickly interjected. “Now you listen here, young man…I’ve had just about enough of you.” He found it difficult to maintain his King-like composure and stay his tongue concerning the perennially negative Donald.

  Just as he was about to raise his voice and give the pudgy boy an earful, Nestor Rockshell - the scar-faced commander of the Fighting Fifth - placed his flat paw on King Walcott’s shoulder. “I would be remiss in my duties, great King, if I did not mention to you that the young boy is quite correct in his assumption. As it stands, we would offer little resistance to a well-trained Ochan regiment of that size, no matter how much it pains me to admit it.”

  The sensible words from one of his most honored soldiers managed to calm King Walcott’s irritation. He nodded at Nestor before giving young Donald a warning look, something Donald recognized as “the stink eye”. They would undoubtedly continue their discussion at a later date.

  Sitting Indian style on a thick-veined, deep green leaf growing from the forest floor, Roustaf leaned toward Pleebo. “What are you thinking, Pleebs? Any ideas?”

  Pleebo had none. He had no real military experience. He had never led men into battle, planned an invasion or even picked up a sword, for that matter. He was quite plainly out of his element. When they started the journey he had always assumed that things would just work themselves out somehow. Never in his wildest dreams did he imagine that others would look to him for answers to questions such as these. Timidly he glanced toward Roustaf, then at the others.

  Lowering his head he gave them the only answer he could. He knew that it was the last thing they wanted to hear. “I…I don’t know…”

  Donald rolled his eyes, moaning. “You know…if Tommy could figure out how to shoot those lasers or whatever they were from his hands again, he could just blast them all to smithereens and be done with it.”

  Tommy shot Donald a nasty glance. In truth, though, Donald was right once again. Since they had started their journey, Tommy tried several times to replicate what he did in Tipoloo and failed miserably every time. He was no closer to understanding how or why it had happened in the first place, let alone learning anything about how to control it. A large part of him believed it had been a fluke, while a small part wondered if it even had happened at all. Incredible powers or no incredible powers, Tommy understood that nothing about his situation had changed. He needed to get past those guards, into that lake and to the Prince’s castle. Nicky needed his help and that was really all that mattered.

  Determined, Tommy glanced at Pleebo and said, “We need to get through that doorway.”

  Ever since Pleebo met Tommy Jarvis, he had known that something was different about the boy. He had not fully understood why he knew this, but he did. Tommy was right; they had to get past the guards at any cost. He owed it to boy to continue. He owed it to his people, his world, and his grandfather. Pleebo looked toward King Walcott and the seven soldiers with pleading eyes.

  No words needed to be spoken.

  A simple glance from Pleebo was returned by an acknowledging nod from King Walcott. Though each had their own personal reasons for taking part in the mission, everyone involved had understood the great importance of its success.

  King Walcott stretched his neck and looked at Nestor. “Tell me, commander…do you think the Fightin’ Fifth might have one great battle left in them?”

  Nestor Rockshell had spent the majority of his adult life in the service of his King and country. He had buried friends and family and had witnessed brothers-at- arms laid to rest. He fought because he believed in a single solitary cause - his people – and he would fight for them until the very last breath.

  A somewhat hesitant smile, slowly brimming with a necessary confidence, stretched across his battered green snout. In a deep voice he said, “For you, my King…always.”

  King Walcott smiled proudly. “Good…very good. You are a credit to the Tycarian people, my friend. I assure you upon my honor that I will not let them forget what you will do here today.”

  Rising, Nestor faced his soldiers. “Three of you will follow the tree line south, while the rest of us go north. Once in position, we’ll attack from both sides and catch them off guard. Our ultimate goal is to pull their division in two directions…to create safe passage for our comrades.” He turned toward King Walcott and the others. “Once we’ve separated the regiment, you should be able to pass through the middle, get into the water and through the doorway. We’ll do our best to keep them from following, but I suggest that you continue moving once you’re on the other side.”

  The group nodded in agreement. Within minutes Nestor and his men parted ways, making their way through the trees in opposite directions. For Owen, Tommy and the rest, time seemed to move slowly. They quickly lost sight of Nestor’s men, staring off in the distance waiting for the battle to begin. Tommy dug his heels into the dirt, ready for a full on sprint. Beside him, Owen Little bit nervously at his fingernails, which were already chewed back as far as they could go. Roustaf floated off the leaf and perched on Pleebo’s shoulder. With the fury of a crash of thunder in a dead night sky, Nestor’s army ran from the trees on either side of the Ochan regiment, swords and shields at the ready. Moving like a well-oiled machine, the Ochans quickly rushed to meet them. Steel crashed against steel and flesh met flesh. The grunts, screams, and howls of war pierced the silence that encapsulated the travelers like a stone shattering glass. For their part, the Fifth Regiment fought brilliantly. What they lacked in speed they made up in strength and, most importantly, heart. Outnumbered by nearly five to one, the Tycarians still managed to separate the Ochan division exactly as planned.

  Still hidden behind the tree line, the group realized that the opening they needed had been created. One by one, they nodded, acknowledging the break. Tommy looked past the fighting and ignored the fact that he had just seen one of Nestor’s men die on the end of an Ochan soldier’s blade. Instead he focused on the body of water behind the madness. Focusing on the destination rather than the journey, thinking only of his little brother, proved to be exactly what he needed to build up his courage and move across the battlefield.

  He took one big, deep breath and dug the toes of his sneakers into the ground. Lowering his brow, tightening every muscle in his face, he screamed only one word, “GO!”

  In a flash, Tommy shot off like a rocket. He ran full speed toward the opening in the line that the Fighting Fifth had created. Large chunks of dirt kicked up underneath his feet and spit into the air behind him. His legs pumped as his arms swung back and forth in a frantic rhythm. He was quickly closing the gap between his flying feet and the battle when he noticed that he was running alone. Sure, Tommy was relatively fast, but he knew that Pleebo was a heck of a lot faster. Why was no one else around him? He stopped so quickly that his feet skid across the grass. He turned and glanced behind him. Still at the tree line, scatter
ing in random, wild directions were the others. Moving like a pack of predators in the trees behind them, with weapons drawn and large smiles barely visible underneath their deep gray helmets, were four Ochan soldiers. Tommy turned again toward the doorway. The opening created by the Tycarians been closed and only three of Nestor’s men remained standing. Everything had fallen apart quickly and now they were trapped.

  *

  *

  CHAPTER 38

  JAR OF FIREFLIES

  *

  Tommy’s hand moved with assured swiftness over the thin sheet of paper. The dark colored crayon between his fingers was worn nearly to a nub, and with each flick of his wrist it grew smaller. To the layman, the marks left in its wake seemed to be random at best. A line here, a thicker line there, a lightly colored space just a bit off center in-between the two – random lines haphazardly scratched on parchment, nothing more. Through the eyes of Tommy Jarvis though, not a single stroke was without meaning or purpose. In his head, the picture was already there, the possibilities of every contour, angle, twist and turn already existed. He was simply bringing them to light, giving them form, and voice – making the invisible, visible.

  Looking up momentarily from his drawing, he glanced at his younger brother Nicky, sitting with his back against the wall of their newly constructed tree fort. In his tiny hands, Nicky held a glass jar filled with fireflies that he had captured earlier in the afternoon. The tiny black bodies were invisible to Tommy’s eye, appearing only briefly out of nowhere in quick flashes of soft yellow light, then disappearing once again into nothingness - their existence brief, yet beautiful. Nicky lifted the jar high and close to his face, smiling widely. Every flicker of a firefly’s body cast a soft reflection in the wetness of his eye, giving the appearance that the light was a great energy growing from somewhere deep within the young boy.

  While staring at his little brother, Tommy was still absentmindedly drawing. The face of a young girl, though only half sketched, could now be made out. Peering through a half sketched strand of hair, she stared at her creator with warm, inquisitive eyes. A slight smile seemed to be forming on the side of her mouth, almost as if she were pleading for him to smile back, though in her heart she understood that he could not – not anymore.

  Tommy glanced out the crudely constructed window. Off in the distance the sun had already half-descended behind a landscape of trees. Extending from the heart of the sun itself, the sky was a hauntingly beautiful hue of orange, red, and a million variations in between. Traveling further into the air, the color faded into a soft, warm purple, which had been swallowed by a cool blue. At the blue edge, transformed into an open, endless black, sporadically lit by the freckles in the sky, were the stars. A total, all-encompassing night was quickly approaching, bringing with it the reality that both Tommy and Nicky would have to return home. Neither boy wanted to leave the safety of their fortress. Far away from the real world and its real people with their very real problems, the tree fort was a welcome change from their repetitively sad lives.

  Tommy turned his attention to Nicky who was lying on his stomach, staring happily into the glass jar resting on the floor. “Nicky, we have to go soon.”

  Nicky glanced at his older brother with sad eyes that revealed his emotion. Tommy hated that look. He hated the way it made him feel. He hated the fact that he seemed to be the only person remaining in the universe who cared how Nicky felt.

  “It’ll be alright…I’ll sneak you in the back door…He’ll never even hear us come in.”

  Nicky’s expression remained cheerless. Tommy could not stand the idea that any little boy had to feel the way he knew his little brother felt at that moment, ignoring the fact that he too was still a little boy.

  “Don’t worry…you know that I won’t let anything happen to you…I promise.”

  Dejected, Nicky turned away from his brother, again staring into his jar of fireflies. He watched closely the rhythmic dance of light brought to life inside. Each burst reflected off the jar’s glass, creating the illusion of a million more, slightly dimmer, tiny insects residing somewhere within. After a minute of losing himself in the intoxicating glow, he snatched the jar in his hands and stood up, moving toward the window, dragging his shoeless feet the entire way. Once there, he leaned out and opened the jar. Tommy stood and moved towards his little brother. “What are you doing?”

  By the time he was standing beside him, Nicky had already removed the cap and turned the jar upside down. One by one, the tiny fireflies escaped from their glass cage into the night sky. The brothers followed their movements until they eventually disappeared into the deep blackness. Occasionally the glow of their tiny bodies mixed with the glow of the evening stars, becoming one and the same.

  Tommy Jarvis believed that for the first time in a very long time, he had found an appropriate moment to smile.

  *

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  CHAPTER 39

  FEAR OF THE UNDERDOG

  *

  Donald Rondage had tried to conceal the fear washing over his body, but his rapid breathing, not to mention the massive amounts of salty sweat dripping down his face and into his mouth, told another story. He dug his fingers deeply into the soft dirt to try to stop his shaking hands, while looking at the others to see if anyone had noticed. Perched like a minuscule red gargoyle on Pleebo’s shoulder, tiny Roustaf smiled knowingly at the boy. In contrast to his usually somewhat harsh demeanor, he nodded, as if to tell Donald that it was okay to be scared. Donald shot him an embarrassed, angry glance, and quickly looked away. Before he had time to curse the little man with the transparent wings, he heard Tommy scream, “GO!” Donald looked over just in time to see Tommy leap up from his crouched position and run towards the battling Ochans and Tycarians.

  Donald took a deep breath, tightened the muscles in his lower body, lifted off his knees and burst through the foliage in front of him. He had gone less than three feet before he was snagged by the collar of his shirt. The soldier pulled him back, dropping him like a sack of potatoes onto his rear. Grimacing through the pain, Donald opened his eyes and looked over his shoulder. Standing over him was an enormous, heavily armored soldier, grinning from one end of his disgusting scaled face to the other. In his massive gloved hand, the angry creature held a sword that seemed as long as Donald’s body. The sunlight caught the blade, shimmering across his face like a dagger of light. Donald looked about him and saw that everyone else was also in a similarly precarious situation.

  An even larger soldier had Pleebo and Roustaf backed up against a tree trunk. The gutsy little Roustaf charged at the creature while screaming at the top of his tiny lungs, but was brushed away, being considered more of a pest than an actual threat. Roustaf’s little body slammed into a tree, knocking him unconscious. Pleebo moved toward his friend but was stopped by a soldier’s drawn sword. Pleebo’s upper lip quivered angrily as his eyes narrowed and a very un-Pleebo-like growl rumbled frighteningly through his thin lips. This was as intimidating as Pleebo would ever hope to look. The burly Ochan found it more comical than frightening. Slowly he moved his sword toward Pleebo, pointing the dangerous tip at the Fillagrou’s bony chest. A sly smile crept across his face as a disgusting mixture of laughter and terrible breath shot in Pleebo’s direction. The Ochan soldier lived for moments like this.

  Farther down the line, another soldier connected with a stiff right hook to the side of King Walcott’s face. The large bodied turtle-man stumbled awkwardly as if his thick legs had become floppy, useless noodles. His shell collided with the trunk of a thin tree, snapping it in half as his body tumbled to the ground, landing with a heavy, reverberating thump.

  A slightly smaller, equally dangerous Ochan towered over a curled up and sobbing Owen Little. With his face pressed hard into the dirt and grass, Owen could not fully see the creature looming dangerously over him but he could feel his presence.

  Quietly into the soil he mumbled, “Please don’t kill me, please don’t kill me, please don’t kill me,
please don’t kill me.” He hoped that it might somehow make a difference.

  The monstrous Ochan standing above Donald lifted his sword, attempting to deliver a fatal blow. Instinctively Donald rolled his burly body to the side as he tried to crawl away. He turned when the soldier’s foot collided with his chest, pinning him to the grass. Donald wrapped his arms around the creature’s thick leg and tried to squirm out from underneath the massive boot. It was hopeless. The evil thing was too strong and too large. Every movement on Donald’s part succeeded only in spreading the pain caused by the ridged, textured soles of the heavy boot. Once again the soldier hoisted the sword high above his head and smiled devilishly at the squirming mass of pink flesh pinned underneath him. A mocking, heavily sarcastic burp of laughter built up, gushing through the spaces between the jagged points of his yellow teeth. Donald closed his eyes tight, tears flowing like a heavy torrent of rain.

  This was it. This was how it was going to end, pinned underneath the foot of a massive lizard-man, far away from anyone and everything that he knew. He wondered if his family would notice his disappearance. If they did, he wondered if they would even care. The young boy found no solace in the fact that he believed the answer to both questions would be, unfortunately, “no”. He closed his eyes tightly and tried to steady his shaking body, preparing himself for the inevitable. The wet, burning sensation pouring from his eyes rapidly spread into his skull. It was an odd feeling, unlike anything Donald had ever experienced. Similar to electricity being carried along a conductive cable, the strange warmth stretched its way throughout his body, into his chest, arms and the tips of his fingers. It moved into his legs, reaching the tip of the nails on his toes. It cascaded across him like warm sunshine coming from somewhere deep inside. His entire body was alive, crackling and popping with massive, explosive amounts of energy straining to be released. Every muscle suddenly felt hot and tingly in ways that gave new definition to the words.