Forts Special Edition: Fathers and Sons

by Steven Novak

  The horde of prisoners poured from the doors lining the exterior walls of the great hall. The sea of angry, defiant creatures thundered forward into the courtyard with the ferocity of a hurricane. Each had come from a different world with different beliefs and ideas – some in stark contrast to one another. None of that mattered now.

  In this singular moment in time they moved as one.

  The similarities now shared were too great to ignore. Nearly all had watched their families murdered, seen their friends struck down, had their homes taken from them or burned to the ground It was this shared agony that had brought them together. It was this awful history that bonded them, reconstructed them and had changed them into a single, solitary race – a race created for vengeance.

  The suddenness of their attack had caught the Ochan forces off guard. Until this time the guards had been quite accustomed to complacency. For a moment, it seemed the prisoners had the advantage. Large groups tackled Ochan soldiers to the ground, stole their weapons and ran into the courtyard where they unlocked the slave cells lining its walls. With the turn of every key their numbers grew and with the growing numbers more Ochan soldiers were overpowered and struck down.

  Despite the way the battle seemed to be playing out, it was only a matter of time before the Ochans regained control. Even with their advantageous numbers, even with the justness of their cause to guide them, the prisoners could not win this battle alone. The rage that had propelled them forward would not last forever. Years of teetering on the brink of starvation had left them weak. Though they had taken the fortress guards by surprise, there would be reinforcements. Eventually the starved and untrained would tire and fall, no matter how badly the thirst for freedom.

  Victory would only be found with the aid of others.

  Fellow could feel his body slowing down. His stride had morphed into a shuffle, his feet dragging across the concrete. The fabric tied around his waist had ridden up, exposing his gushing wound to the open air, allowing it to bleed freely down his side. The Chintaran had lost a great deal of blood, yet with every passing second he lost more. Each step felt like an eternity of agony condensed into a solitary moment that repeated itself over and over. Time slowed, the sound of the world faded further away and all around him became quiet, as if lost in a deep, dark cavern, slowly replaced by the soft hum of a distant, non-existent breeze. The exit was only twenty, maybe thirty more feet away, but his injuries made it impossible for him to reach the rear courtyard. Despite his best efforts to remain standing, Fellow’s legs collapsed underneath him and his body tumbled to the ground. Staci slipped from his arms and slammed against floor, skidding across its stone surface, stopping when she hit a wall. Fellow rolled onto his back, his lazy, wobbly head gazing at his feet. Behind him, covering the ground was a ghastly-looking trail of blood. There was so much blood that he could scarcely believe it had all come from his body.

  A teary-eyed Nicky Jarvis grabbed one of Fellow’s limp arms and tried in vain to coax the weary fish-man back to his feet. Fellow understood that he needed to get up – that he had to get up. Despite this knowledge, his body chose instead to defy his wishes and remain where it was. With the little bit of strength remaining in his tired, weary body, he pulled little Nicky Jarvis closer.

  In a wheezy, strained, far away voice he whispered, “The door…is that way…you have to get through the door. Find a place to hide in the….rear…in the rear courtyard. Hide…hide, and don’t come out.”

  Nicky violently shook his head, a hot torrent of tears streaming down his cheeks. Grabbing Fellow’s arm one more time he tossed it over his shoulder and tried again to lift the limp-bodied fish-man to his feet.

  “Go…you have…to go…now…” Fellow mumbled, his voice even further away than before. Pulling his arm away, Fellow shoved the tearful boy toward the door at the opposite end of the hall. Nicky continued to fight him the entire time.

  Not more than five feet from the pair of them, the eyes of Staci Alexander blinked once as she came to her senses. Wearily the young girl lifted her face off of the cold floor, propped herself on her elbows and gazed wearily in the direction of Nicky and Fellow. The world around her that had been distant and unreal before was briskly coming into focus once again. She could recall everything that had happened in great detail after she brought Fellow back to life but it seemed unreal, as if it had happened to someone else. She found the experience comparable to watching television. She had seen and could recount in great detail everything that occurred, yet she had been unable to interact. Now, however, the image of the teary-eyed Nicky and the rapidly dying Fellow Undergotten snapped her violently, like a rubber band, back to the real world.

  She had to help them and something buried deep inside convinced her that she was capable of doing exactly that.

  Pulling herself to her knees, Staci felt the now familiar and odd warmness growing in her chest. Slowly it spread across her chest and into her pores. As it had before, the odd sensation made its way down her side and into her hand. It tickled the insides of her fingertips like a billion microscopic feathers underneath her skin. Lifting her fingers to her face, Staci watched with wide-eyed familiarity as they began to glow.

  Yes, she could help them. She could help Fellow exactly the same way she had before. None of it made an ounce of sense, but it was there right in front of her eyes. She could heal him and make everything all right. She could help him and that was exactly what she was going to do.

  Feverishly, Staci started crawling across the floor toward Fellow and Nicky. She stretched her arm in front of her as far as her joints would allow. Never for a second did her eyes deviate from the youngest Jarvis boy and her strange new friend.

  She was a mere foot and a half away from them when Nicky noticed her moving in their direction, her strange glowing arm leading the way.

  Just then, the look of relief that washed over his face was abruptly replaced by one of sheer terror.

  Nicky’s eyes looked over her shoulder; his mouth opened wide to scream but no sound escaped.

  Staci was six inches from touching the top of Fellow’s scaly blue head, when something grabbed her shirt and jerked her violently into the air.

  As the collar of her top pulled tightly around her neck she screamed in vain, “NO!”

  Her feet were dangling, kicking wildly in the air. Stretching her body forward, choking herself on her shirt, she tried again to touch Fellow Undergotten but could not reach him. Something pulled her away from him, and the further she was pulled, the more the intensity of her glowing arm dimmed. The feathers underneath her skin stopped tickling. The warmth slowly crept back into her chest, eventually fading into the nothingness from whence it came.

  Only inches away – a couple of measly inches. She was only inches from saving him, but she had failed.

  Angry, frustrated tears rolled down her cheeks. Staci twisted her dangling body as she attempted to see her captor. When she recognized Prince Valkea, her heart sank.

  The Prince flashed a cocky smile at the squirming girl. A tiny chuckle escaped his lips. An incredible amount of annoyance bubbled up inside . With a flick of his wrist he tightened the grip on Staci’s collar, strangling her with the fabric around her neck. Pulling her close, his smile disappeared, his eyes thin and tight.

  In a deep, breathy voice he growled, “You cannot possibly imagine how tired I am of you, little girl.”

  Staci kicked her feet at him wildly. Prince Valkea tightened his grip and choked her further, instantly stopping her defiant squirming. The Prince watched her struggling to breathe, letting the moment linger before he loosened his grip just enough to keep her alive.

  Turning his attention to Nicky, who was still on his hands and knees hovering over the body of Fellow Undergotten, Prince Valkea spoke plainly. “He’ll be of no help to you anymore, little one.”

  As he maintained his grip on Staci, the Prince moved towards Nicky. The frightened child tried to get out of the way but stopped when he reached the
wall. With his free hand, Prince Valkea grabbed the boy’s shirt and lifted him easily into the air. He tightened his grip on the garments of both children just enough to ensure that they felt discomfort. They were in no danger of dying when he lowered them to the ground. Prince Valkea pulled them by their collars and headed toward the doorway which led to the rear courtyard. Nicky and Staci wiggled, kicked and flailed while struggling to breathe, as they were dragged across the stone like sacks of rocks.

  With his face pressed against the cold floor, precious life escaping his body with every breath, Fellow Undergotten watched through blurry eyes as the children were pulled further and further away from him. Once again he tried, with every fiber of his being, to force his body to move, and once again he failed. Despite his desire, the Chintaran’s body continued to ignore his brain, refusing to respond. He had failed. He had failed and the children would die because of his stupidity. He had failed when he was needed the most. He had failed for the final time. Though he did not have the strength or fluids left to produce tears, Fellow Undergotten wept deeper inside than he had ever wept before.

  *

  *

  CHAPTER 42

  DISTRACTION BRINGS OPPORTUNITY

  *

  For the most part the group had been quiet since crossing the doorway from Tycaria into Fillagrou. Though they had witnessed firsthand what Tommy and Donald could do, many among them had trouble rationalizing exactly what they had seen. The astounding, slightly frightening glow from Tommy’s hands had laid waste to an entire Ochan regiment in a matter of minutes. A regiment filled with the finest, best-trained, war-hardened soldiers in ninety-nine known worlds, had literally been obliterated with the snap of a boy’s fingers. The idea boggled the mind. Nursing a slightly bent wing, Roustaf sat motionless on Pleebo’s shoulder, the pair bringing up the rear. Feeling the need to break the uncomfortable silence, Roustaf flew across Pleebo’s gray skinned shoulder, stopping when he reached his ear.

  Bracing himself on the ridge of Pleebo’s earlobe, he leaned the upper half of his body inside his friend’s massive ear canal and whispered, “So what are you thinking, Pleebs?”

  Pleebo was walking not far behind Tommy and Donald. The emotions in Pleebo’s head ranged from cautious fascination to downright fear. To be so young and have so much power was an awe-inspiring combination. At the same time, forces such as the Tommy and Donald had wielded brought endless unknowns that could simply not be ignored.

  “What do you mean what do I think?” Pleebo answered bluntly, his eyes never wavering.

  “You know…do you think they really are the ones?”

  Pleebo found his little friend’s question comical. “You’re kidding right? Who else do you know that can do what they did?”

  “There are a whole lot of species out there that can do magic, Pleebs…trust me, I’ve met quite a few weirdoes in my time.”

  “Magic is one thing, my friend, but what that boy did today is something else altogether. If these kids aren’t the ones, then I honestly don’t know who are.”

  Roustaf slowly backed away from Pleebo’s ear and sat down. He stared at the children walking in the distance with a questioning, extremely cautious look on his tiny face. Part of him wanted to fall under their spell like his friend, but the fables they represented did not belong to his people. Unlike Pleebo, his grandfather had not raised him to believe in the coming of “The Five to save them all.” In fact, the concepts of prophets, saviors and destiny were mostly foreign concepts to him; but that was before the war and before he had ended up living among the castaways of the lost city of Tipoloo. The Ochan armies and this war had taken everything from him. Unlike King Walcott or Pleebo, he believed he was the very last of his race. The King’s army had not only invaded his world, they had decimated it. They had destroyed everything and murdered everyone. This had been genocide at its purest and most evil. Every living thing – plant, animal, or otherwise – had been wiped from existence. Sure, he had made new friends in Tipoloo. Some he might even go so far as to call family. At the same time, though, Roustaf was painfully aware that he would never see another of his people again. To believe that these children would help him get the revenge he had dreamt about for so many years was a wonderful idea, but at the moment it was just that – an idea. After all he had seen, after everything he had lived through, Roustaf found it difficult to give himself over to the idea fully, no matter how badly he wished that he could.

  Tommy Jarvis walked silently through the thick forest brush trying to keep pace with King Walcott, Owen and Nestor . Beside him, Donald was equally mum. Both boys had just done things they believed impossible – things they should not have been able to do. Scariest though, was the fact that both believed they could do it again when called upon – whether they wanted to or not. To go from being average children in an average town leading average lives to whatever it was they were doing now had boggled their minds. Donald silently admitted that a small part of him was anxious to use his powers again. Tommy simply wanted to find his brother and Staci and go home. Nothing else mattered.

  Picking up his pace just a bit, Donald moved closer to Tommy.

  Nudging him slightly with his shoulder, he softly whispered, “Hey, loser…don’t think that just because you helped me out back there that we’re friends or anything. You know…’cause we’re not…at all.”

  Though Tommy’s face showed no emotion, he laughed just a little on the inside. As much as he hated to admit it, he was starting to not dislike Donald. He was also beginning to get the impression that Donald felt the very same way. With everything that had happened Tommy began to see his oversized nemesis in a slightly different light. In a world filled with armies of lizard men, doorways to other dimensions, man-sized turtles and walls of energy shooting from the fingertips of fourteen-year olds, not totally hating Donald Rondage seemed to make perfect sense.

  Without lifting his head or looking in Donald’s direction Tommy muttered, “No…of course not. The thought never crossed my mind.”

  “Good, because I could have taken those guys, anyway. Seriously…I could have picked them up by their legs and smacked them together like Moe if I wanted to. In fact, that’s exactly what I was planning on doing before you started shooting lightning bolts all over the place like a wacko.”

  “I know it.”

  “Good…as long as we’ve got that straight, freak.”

  “Ya, don’t worry…we’ve got it straight.”

  The boys were quiet for a minute or two while they walked.

  Donald looked around to see if anyone was watching him, then nudged Tommy once more. “Don’t worry, freak… We’re gonna find your bro.”

  Ahead of the boys walked Nestor and King Walcott, with Owen Little sandwiched between them. Nestor had tied his wounds well enough to stop his bleeding but moved with a noticeable limp.

  King Walcott massaged his sore jaw and glanced at his injured friend. “You did a mighty fine job back there, soldier…mighty fine, indeed. The Fightin’ Fifth has once again brought great honor to Tycaria…and to your King. I guarantee you, their sacrifice will not be forgotten, my friend.”

  Nestor’s grin was barely noticeable. Were it not for the great sadness overwhelming him as a result of the deaths of his soldiers, the smile would have been a mile wide.

  “Your words fill me with great pride, my King, and I am humbled that you offer them to me,” he responded coolly.

  Owen glanced at the two giant turtle men, while walking between their massive, bobbing shells. He looked behind him, his gaze settling on Tommy and Donald. He still could not fully wrap his mind around what he had seen them do earlier. This world, the prophecy, it seemed like such nonsense at first. Now, though, after he had watched Tommy shoot light beams from his hands and Donald toss a three hundred pound talking lizard twenty feet , it seemed a little less wacky. One thing bothered him, though. If Tommy and Donald could do things like that, could he do something cool as well? He was supposed to be one of
The Five, right? If he were one of The Five, and The Five apparently have super powers, then it stood to reason that he had super powers. After Owen made sure that no one was paying any attention to him, he closed his eyes and thrust his arms forward quickly. Nothing happened. Gritting his teeth, he closed his eyes tighter and concentrated as hard as he could on doing something “super powered.” This time he pictured beams of light shooting from his fingers, like Tommy. He imagined himself flying through the air, or shooting webs from his hands, or moving faster than a speeding bullet. Again, he thrust his hands forward comically, expecting something to happen. Again, he was left looking foolish.

  King Walcott’s voice came from above. “Say there, Mr. Owen…what is it exactly that you think you’re doing?”

  Embarrassed, Owen shoved his hands in his pockets, opening his eyes wide. Scratching at the inside of his arms, he pretended to have an itch. “Nothing…I…I wasn’t doing anything. What are you doing? I wasn’t doing anything other than walking…hey, that’s a neat plant, what do you guys call it?”

  King Walcott looked at the boy, somewhat puzzled. It was rapidly becoming a common expression when dealing with Owen.

  Nestor spoke quietly. “We’re here…everyone get down.”

  Immediately after hearing the words, the entire group crouched down. Just ahead of them where Nestor stooped the forest opened to a vast treeless field extending off into the horizon. The Prince’s fortress was nestled at the base of a steep hill. The castle itself was enormous. Huge, dark, fortified walls surrounded it, not only keeping it safe from its enemies, but giving the entire complex an impenetrable feeling. The group crawled to the edge of the hill and peered down at the massive gothic structure.

  Donald was the first to speak. “Great…we found it…now just how in the hell are we supposed to get in there?”

  The question was of course directed at the group’s honorary leader, Pleebo. Unfortunately for them, he had no idea.