by Steven Novak
Much to his horror, the entire Ochan army that had been sent to put an end to the slave uprising was dead.
The terrifying magic seemed to have spared everything except his army.
Grotesquely spread across the courtyard and grounds remained the smoking carcasses of the heavily armored soldiers Some were charred so badly that they were barely recognizable. In the center of a circle where three hundred Ochan corpses smoldered stood the glowing boy, like a demon born from the fires of the underworld. The General had never in his life witnessed such an incredible show of destructive force. It was an insanely unreal concept better suited to the wild imagination of children and the crazy prophecies of species less evolved than his.
Never in his life had he known the true meaning of the word terror - until now.
Tugging back hard on the reins of the Megalot, General Thrax turned the creature. A group of at least a hundred and fifty Ochan reserves sat scattered among the forest, waiting to be given the order to join the battle.
Without a moment’s hesitation, General Thrax urgently barked out the one order he had yet to give during the whole of his illustrious military career. “RETREAT!”
On cue, the Megalot took off at full speed, kicking mounds of soppy mud and gray foliage with every step. The soldiers paused for a moment. They had never been given an order of retreat and reacted with a considerable amount of uncertainty. One by one, they adhered to the General’s call, falling into formation, following him into the forest.
Zanell’s head popped up from behind a heavily leafed bush as she watched the massive Ochan force scurry away and disappear into the dark trees. She had seen and experienced this moment in her head long before it actually happened, yet an unexpected emotion washed over her. The feeling was more than happiness, joy or pride. It was something else entirely. It was something so warm and good that no word would ever truly do it justice.
Breathing deeply she attempted to control her happiness, calming down. Silently she reminded herself that this was only the beginning. There were more moments to come - moments that would bring with them the highest of highs and the lowest of lows - moments that would make this one single victory seem like a footnote in the greater story of all things.
Try as she might to steady her emotions, she failed.
Instead, she opted to let the amazing feeling wash over her and rinse away the nastiness that had been the majority of her youth. Zanell had spent a very long time not truly knowing a feeling such as this and she was not going to let anything as frustrating as common sense ruin it.
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CHAPTER 60
THE UNLIKELY FAMILY
*
When the massive wall of humming, crackling energy had retreated into his body, Tommy Jarvis opened his eyes and scanned the disaster area around him. Scattered arbitrarily in every direction was row after row of burnt Ochan corpses, piled on top of each other as far as he could see. This was both terrifying and satisfying to behold. The idea that he had killed so many so easily, with little more than a flick of his wrist, sent a bolt of chilling panic to his very core. The knowledge that any one of the soldiers would have done the same to him, his brother or Staci eased a feeling of regret. He had not had a choice. It was either him or them; it was as simple as that. Tommy decided this was sound reasoning. It had to be. The alternative was something he was not prepared to face.
Behind him, a shell-shocked Pleebo released Nicky and Staci from his protective arms. The three of them silently absorbed the aftermath of Tommy’s burst of explosive power. The rain that had been steadily falling since the outset of battle tapered off to a soft drizzle. The fortress reeked of burning flesh and stale Ochan blood mixed with stagnant muddy water. Soft puffs of white steam rose from the various patches of scalding Ochan corpses as they were cooled by the soft drizzle. Nicky timidly approached his older brother, his feet sinking a good three to four inches into the mud. He tenderly placed his hand on Tommy’s shoulder.
In a tiny, mousy voice he whispered, “Tommy?”
The familiar sound instantly woke Tommy from his trance. The pitch, the inflection, the child-like innocence with which it had been delivered registered with memories of happier times locked somewhere deep in the back of his mind. This was a voice he had not heard in years, a voice he had forgotten just how much he missed.
“Nicky?” Tommy asked to no one in particular, believing that he had been dreaming.
Tommy spun around and faced the person who had called him. With a boyish grin covering his wet face from ear to ear and globs of sweaty, stringy hair plastered to his filthy head stood his little brother.
“Nicky? Did you…did you just…?”
Nicky chuckled. “Hi, bro.”
A wide smile spread across Tommy’s face. He wrapped his arms around his little brother, lifting Nicky into the air while hugging him tightly. A laugh gurgled up from inside Tommy’s belly. He thought he had forgotten how to laugh. The strange new sound moved into his chest, escaping his lips with an awkward, purely sweet honesty that he had not felt in years. A little voice in the back of his head pleaded for him to retreat into the safety of his quiet, brooding façade, but it was impossible. He chose not to think. He chose, instead, to simply feel. His brother had spoken for the first time in years. If any occasion was worthy of such a reaction, this was surely it.
Giggling softly, Nicky managed to pry himself from his older brother’s grasp.
Almost apologetically he muttered, “You found me…thanks for finding me.”
“Of course I found you.” Tommy answered as a slight, warm smile spread across his face, “You’re my brother…I’ll always find you.”
Staci joyfully approached the overjoyed duo. The infectiousness of the grin on Tommy’s face had spread to her as well. Comforting warmth filled her cheeks, making them blush a deep red as she watched the boys enjoying their moment together.
Tommy looked knowingly at Staci. She had saved his life. Though the memories of the moment were still a bit clouded, he could vaguely remember the Prince choking him. He could recall the sharp pains in his neck, struggling to make the most of every tiny snippet of air leaking into his lungs, and failing. Then there was nothing but black. Pulling him gently out of the darkness, though, coaxing him back to life with a soft voice and a tender touch was his friend Staci. Staci’s smile faded briefly when she saw Tommy walking toward her. Panic overwhelmed her as she froze. But this was not fear taking hold of her, this was something entirely different. Her breathing increased and her heart thumped twice as fast.
With a soulful, thankful voice Tommy whispered only two words while staring into her wide blue eyes. “Thank you.”
For reasons she could not fully understand, Tommy’s words caused her already flushed face to become redder still. With a barely audible snort, she giggled and turned her head away.
To alleviate her embarrassment she quickly joked, “Ya…well…somebody had to save your butt. Let’s not go making a habit of it though…okay?”
“Look at that,” Pleebo interrupted as he pointed past the mounds of Ochan corpses.
Just beyond the bodies of the fallen soldiers, groups of extremely confused slaves were making their way cautiously toward them. Prisoners were streaming from around corners, behind huge chunks of debris and through the many doors within the castle walls. Their numbers swelled well into the hundreds. Each seemed to understand that the little girl had given them life, though none could quite explain how. Most had witnessed firsthand how Tommy single-handedly put an end to hundreds of Ochan soldiers. Hushed whispers of prophecies and legends had been the only viable explanation for the otherwise unexplainable occurrences.
The mass of dumbfounded, thankful creatures circled the children. Their hands patted various parts of their filthy bodies, marveling at the fact that their injuries had been healed completely. Tearful hugs were readily given as family and friends were reunited. The moment was poignant, powerful and unforgettable. A feel
ing, both wondrous and foreign, spread across the group like the warmth of the cresting sun in the early morning.
That feeling was hope.
A sturdy, familiar voice rose from crowd. “Step aside! Step aside, please! Make room, my friends. Make room!”
In response to the deep, burly instructions, the sea of resurrected slaves parted. As the last of them stepped aside, none other than the King of the Tycarian people, the holder of the sacred cup of Peladrov and the keeper of the great Mud Chalice, King Walcott Shellamennes, came into view.
With a grin on his tired, wrinkly face, he nodded to Tommy. “Well done, lad…well done, indeed.”
Tommy smiled, happy to see that the enormous turtle man was alive. Following close behind King Walcott, trying desperately to wipe massive amounts of dirt off his shirt, was Owen Little.
In an annoyed voice, Owen mumbled, “My dad is going to kill me when he sees how dirty this thing is.”
Behind Owen, Donald Rondage trudged into the the circle, stopping in front of Tommy, their faces inches apart. Staci’s amazing healing powers had repaired the injury to his shoulder, leaving the boy in perfect health. Donald breathed in deeply, his eyes rolling back in his head as he over-exaggerated his annoyance.
Reluctantly he held his hand out to Tommy, “Go ahead…take it,” he as he motioned for Tommy to shake his hand. “Come on, loser…I’m not going to stand here all day looking like an idiot. Shake my hand…let’s get it over with.”
Tommy smiled when he took hold of Donald’s hand. Donald squeezed tightly, pulling him close.
Quietly he whispered, “Don’t go thinking this makes us friends or anything…cause it doesn’t…at all. You’re still a weirdo.”
Last to make their way through the ecstatic sea of slaves was the pink woman, with tiny Roustaf standing triumphantly on her shoulder. Bringing up the rear was Nestor Rockshell.
Nestor stopped near King Walcott, the two of them exchanging knowing glances.
“I’m pleased you could join us for the victory celebration, old friend,” King Walcott said, patting Nestor’s shell gently with his huge flat hand.
“I wouldn’t miss it for the world, Sire,” Nestor responded with a grin.
Pleebo moved quickly toward Roustaf, happy to see his friend alive and well.
“Pleebs! I never thought I’d be so happy to see your butt-ugly face again,” the tiny red man bellowed. “Hey Pleebs…hey, wait…let me introduce you to someone.” Fluttering his wings, Roustaf bowed cordially while hovering a few inches from the pink woman’s face. “Pleebs, this is Tahnja…she’s a Grilgamorph. Tahnja, this is Pleebs, or Pleebo, or whatever…in any case, he’s one of my oldest and dearest friends.”
Pleebo smiled at Roustaf, amused at the obviously lovelorn look on his friend’s face. Keeping his mouth shut for the time being, he gazed at Tahnja. “Nice to meet you, Tahnja.”
“A pleasure meeting you, Pleebo.”
Standing together, surrounded by the cheerful, freed slaves of a hundred different species from a hundred different lands, the entire group found the moment humbling. Together they had done the impossible. They had shared moments and seen things they would never forget. The situations that had threatened to destroy them brought them closer together. Unlikely alliances had led to unlikely companions.
Unlikely companions had forged an unlikely family.
Slowly cheers rose from the ocean of slaves. The festive sound of laughter, the rhythmic clap of hands and the niceties of hopeful chatter slowly built to an excited crescendo that pushed the dark clouds away, bringing an end to the light drizzle. A fortress that had been accustomed only to cries of agony and the deafening silence attributed to the aftermath of death was filled with the joyous and hopeful sounds of freedom.
After shoving his way through the cheering hordes, Fellow Undergotten finally moved into the center of the circle. His eyes locked immediately onto Staci and Nicky. Staci spotted the fish-man from the corner of her eye and frantically tapped Nicky on the shoulder. A moment later both children were charging at him full speed, crashed into his body and grabbed whatever limb was available, hugging tightly. Their exuberance very nearly knocked Fellow into the mud.
In-between chuckles he managed to say, “Whoa, whoa, take it easy! I’m happy to see you guys too, but if you’re not careful I’m going to end up with another broken leg.” Putting his hands on Staci’s shoulders, Fellow gazed into her soulful face. “That’s twice now that you’ve brought me back to life, kiddo,” he jokingly said , “Now, you aren’t going to go holding this over my head expecting something in return, are you?”
Staci did not answer as she wrapped her arms tightly around his midsection.
For now, every living creature in the courtyard made a conscious effort not to think about the fact that the Ochan forces were by no means defeated, or that the city of Tipoloo had been destroyed, or that there would undoubtedly be repercussions for the death of Prince Valkea. There would be ample opportunity to deal with these problems later. Now was the time to simply enjoy what they had been given, no matter how fleeting it might ultimately prove to be. As a collective they would squeeze every ounce of hope and happiness that they could from this moment.
Their decision to enjoy it for all for what it was worth was not only the correct one, it was the only one.
*
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CHAPTER 61
SAYING GOODBYE
*
The trip back through the red forest was uneventful. For the first time in more years than most could remember, the entire Ochan army had been pulled from patrols. As it had been before the madness of war, the red forest was quiet. The soft breeze no longer carried with it a feeling of overwhelming dread. The million glorious shades of red contained within its foliage seemed brighter, as if the forest also appreciated the exceptional calm. For Pleebo and Zanell, the ability to walk above ground without fear proved to be an almost religious experience. Their mother had often referred to the forest as the heart of the Fillagrou people. With the arrival of the Ochan army and the onset of war, the ventricles connecting them to that heart had been cut. The forest had turned from something beautiful into something scary. Of all the terrible losses their race had suffered, this was arguably the worst .
After a couple of days’ hike, King Walcott, Roustaf, Tahnja, Fellow and Nestor left the group and escorted the freed slaves home while Pleebo and, Zanell still traveled with the children. Although the vast majority of the underground city had been laid to waste, there remained sections of Tipoloo that the dark army had not discovered during their attack. There were tunnels and corridors filled with starving, anguished refugees. The freed slaves also carried much needed food and supplies that had been looted from the fortress ruins to share with the suffering masses. It was here that the process of rebuilding would begin. From their new hiding place they would formulate a plan of attack. Leading them while adding another name to his already lengthy title would be none other than the King of the Tycarian people, the holder of the sacred cup of Peladrov, the keeper of the great Mud Chalice and the leader of the New Tipoloo Rebellion, King Walcott Shellamennes. Wielding a surgical knife rather than a broad sword, the inhabitants of New Tipoloo planned to work in cells, using the element of surprise with raids, sabotage and harassment against the Ochan army, rather than fighting them on the battlefield. Despite the fact that it still seemed to be an impossible undertaking, never in the history of the war had the enemies of the Ochan nation felt so confident about their chances. They would defy the odds and they would achieve victory. The revered prophesy had not been forgotten.
“Well, Mr. Owen, I suppose this is where we part ways,” King Walcott said with just a hint of sadness as he gazed at the diminutive form of Own Little. “I will miss you, my young friend. You were my original traveling companion and we’ve shared many incredible adventures.”
While wiping a few annoying smudges from his glasses, Owen glanced at King Walcott, a look of confusion on hi
s face, “Umm…ya, sure…I’ll miss you too…I guess”
Of all the children, Owen was least likely to miss Fillagrou. In fact, he was anxious to get home. Giant turtles, lizard men with swords, invisibility, exploding castles and dead bodies – he had seen enough of it. He wanted to go home, crawl into his bed, pull the covers up to his neck and sleep for days. Getting wedgies from the Delaney brothers on his way to school now seemed like the absolute greatest thing in the world.
After patting him gently on the head with his paw, King Walcott mussed Owen’s hair, adding thoughtfully, “Ahhh yes…incredible adventures, indeed, Mr. Owen…incredible adventures, indeed.”
Sighing deeply, King Walcott turned to Donald Rondage, his expression changing rapidly from whimsy to serious. “As for you, young Donald…”
Donald faced the Tycarian King, his heart beating hard; he was expecting the ancient reptile to crack him in the face for all the SLOW-amennes jokes.
“You, young man…” King Walcott stated gruffly as he stood over the boy, his enormous shadow cloaking Donald in darkness, “You, my boy…fought with honor, and for it…you have earned my respect.”
Extending his paw, King Walcott tipped his head slightly. Hesitantly Donald grasped the massive paw, shaking it up and down. Though he would never admit it to anyone, least of all King Walcott, Donald had grown to like the elderly turtle-man. He was going to miss him.
Nicky and Staci had wrapped their arms around Fellow Undergotten once again, squeezing as tightly as they could. Fellow patted their backs gently. Feeling his eyes water, he softly pushed the children away, wiping away a tear. He was going to miss the children greatly; it was not because of everything they had done for him and rest of the hapless souls that had been locked within Prince Valkea’s fortress – no, it was much more. He was going to miss them because somewhere along the way they had become his friends.