The Auburn Prince

by Adam Zmarzlinski

  “You’ve read Meditations?” Clementine asked.

  “I am a wizard. I travel. I see. I discover. I read,” he said. “I know what I know for I know who I am. Does God ever wonder who God is? He does not. He knows, as you should know who you are. Feel who you are and all shall be well, all shall be within your grasp, even this journey. I feel your adventure shall end well. I trust in that feeling because I sense in you a great goodness, a truth.”

  “Thank you,” Clementine said. “I too think all will be well. I mean, I’m the good guy, right?”

  “If you want others to be aware of how good you are, then ponder yet again about how good you really are,” Rickerty said. “Book five, I believe.”

  “You have quite a memory,” she said.

  “That which has been written and then read can never be destroyed inside your head,” Rickerty replied.

  Clementine smiled and said, “Thank you.”

  “Praise from the wicked is meaningless,” Rickerty said making Clementine frown.

  “I jest,” the wizard said. “I see in you no villain. However, I doubt this fox you travel with. Foxes are deceptive creatures by nature and no matter if you’re a kingly lion or a beggarly goose, when judged by a court of foxes, you are simply dinner. Keep that in mind. There might be more to his story, more to his reasoning behind the journey here. Sometimes villains look like heroes and heroes look like villains.”

  “I really appreciate your counsel,” Clementine said.

  “The good need no counsel, as long as they follow their heart. All shall be, as it is meant to be, which in the end is all well and good.”

  “It’s so hard to know who’s good and who’s not,” she said.

  Rickerty fingered the tip of his lute blade and spoke, “A time will come when everything that you know shall bend, all your ideas, beliefs and friends, and it is up to you to make sure that that bend does not become a break. It is up to you to tend to the lone straw of bamboo that is hope in the desert of life.”

  “You know many things,” Clementine said. “Do you know if I will find my parents?”

  Even though Rickerty’s fingers did not glide over the strings, the harp chimed a tune. The wizard cocked his head, his eyes flared up in anger, yet he spoke in a measured tone, “A tree sometimes grows too large and it’s the roots that topple its fine crown.”

  “What?” she asked, confused.

  “Nothing, my dear,” he said, his left hand trembling. “Wizard business is running through my mind, raw and without any context to you.”

  Clementine stared at his trembling hand.

  “I must run now,” he said. “Urgent matters call for my attention.”

  With a twist, the wizard and his lute folded into themselves, vanishing before her eyes.

  A scream pierced the still air; Clementine recognized the voice. She rushed toward the clearing where she came upon a dirty colorless man in gray rags holding Mika by the neck. Out of the brush emerged two others, just as disheveled and gray faced as the other.

  “Well what do we have here?” the toothless one said with a smile.

  Chapter Thirteen

  The Color Poachers

  Acting on reflex, Clementine shoved the nearest villain. Unbalanced, the color poacher fell, giving the hound an opportunity to slip out of her captor’s grasp. After a quick hop, Clementine scooped up the gecko, gave a sweeping look over her surroundings (“Where is the fox?”) and told Mika to follow her. They cleared the stream with a leap and vanished into the woods. The color poachers followed.

  The trees seemed to grow closer together and—as if sensing the danger that the girl and the hound were in—acted to hinder their escape. Blocking direct pathways, great rotting trunks lay between moss-coved giants, skeletal crowns of long dead white oaks guarded shortcuts through the nearest clearings, while serpentine roots reached for their feet in hope of tripping them. Mika’s keen sense of smell came in handy among the rooted maze. She smelled for faint hints of fresh air among the graveyard of wooden giants, leading her father and Clementine along until they reached a steep hillside where the thicket cleared.

  It began to drizzle.

  Leaning sideways, its roots halfway out of the ground, a great old tree torn from the earth by a powerful storm, sat unhinged at the edge of an adjacent bluff threatening to tumble downwards upon the fallen trees, saplings, and scrubs below. Thinking it the only place among the treeless hillside to hide and catch her breath, Clementine, with Mika by her side, ran and knelt behind the tree’s upended roots.

  “Where is Mr. Fox?” she asked.

  “He was with us at the clearing,” Mika said. “I thought I saw him—

  “There you are,” a color poacher said, walking up to them. “Come on luv, no need to be runnin’.” Startled, Clementine stepped back against the roots, making the tree sway. The poacher dove, missed her when she dodged and ran face first into the tree’s trunk.

  They ran out from behind their hiding place and began a slow and tedious descent down the slope. Fallen trees, remnants from the aftermath of a storm, littered the area. Carefully, they made their way through the shattered vestiges of great trees. A fresh coat of mud layered the ground, making Clementine’s bare feet slip and slide. The twigs and broken branches added to her frustration, pricking and cutting the soles of her feet.

  Suddenly, the color poachers were upon them. “Come here,” one of them yelled, swiping at Clementine’s feet. After several attempts, he made contact and she fell. The poacher stood over her when Mika lunged and bit into his hand.

  “You mutt!” the poacher screamed, shaking the hound off. He grabbed for the blade that hung off his belt, but before he could reach it, a loud crash cut through the air. They all turned and gazed upwards to see the great tree fall upon its side and rolled downwards with a great booming sound like that of sea waves crashing upon an iceberg.

  “Shit!” one of the villains said and they all ran.

  The great tree was so large and the force behind its fall so powerful that the surrounding trees, slicked by mud and rain, began sliding downwards. In a moment, the whole hillside was moving.

  The color poachers, focusing their attention on getting out of the situation alive, forgot all about the girl and the hound. They jumped over rolling tree trunks and watched as great chunks of earth careened past them. However, one of them, a dim fellow, greedy to get his hands on Clementine, continued his pursuit. While dodging the rolling wood, Clementine had to deal with the dim one’s attempts at seizing her. Nearing the bottom of the hill, he got the best of her by yanking her back by the hood of her jacket. Clementine fell sideways, slipped on mud and slid fifteen yards down finally coming to a halt against the base of a tree.

  With a wide grin, the dim one walked over to her. “Got you,” he said, creepily rubbing his hands. “You’re gonna make me rich.” A heavy chunk of wood struck him on the back of the head. He took three steps, swayed, and fell on top of Clementine. His weight pinning her against the tree.

  “Eww!” Clementine exclaimed; the poacher stank of sweat and filth. Struggling to get free, she tried to shove him aside but he was much too heavy for her to lift. Then she heard the thrashing roar as the great tree rampaged right at her. It took an odd bounce, shifted midair, landed with a boom, turned sideways and, although its momentum slowed, it continued to slide toward her only to slow down and stop mere inches away from her. Mika appeared and with her help, Clementine slid out from under the poacher.

  “Are you all right?” the beagle asked.

  “I’m fine,” Clementine said, covered in mud. “Where’s your dad?”

  “I’m here,” Nir said as he emerged from her hood.

  Clementine smiled. “Let’s get out of here,” she said but just as they were about to leave, the unconscious poacher stood up, grabbed Mika by the scruff of her neck, wrapped his arm around her, pointed a blade at her chest and said, “You ain’t going nowhere.”

  “Don’t harm her,” Clementine sai
d.

  “Harm her?” the poacher said and laughed. “She got color. She be worth a bunch o’ gold to me just the way she is.”

  “There you are, Bruto,” said another poacher.

  “We got ourselves a nice bunch of color here, Ciego,” Bruto said. “We gonna be a rich bunch, the ‘ole of us.” Draped in mud, the third poacher emerged from behind a trio of shattered trees.

  “There you are, Sordos,” Ciego said. “We’ve caught them.”

  When the three poachers came together, they examined their prize and grinned in unison at the thought of how much gold the trio’s color would bring them.

  “All right now,” said Bruto. “Walk.”

  “Not until you let go of my friend,” Clementine said.

  “Walk,” Ciego said as he stepped behind Clementine, poking her with his blade. Knowing there was no other choice, she obeyed. The poachers laughed at her tameness.

  Night came and before heading out on their long trek, Sordos pulled out two torches from his leather bag. After lighting them, he passed one to Ciego, while keeping the other for himself. Although colorless, the fire illuminated the darkness.

  They turned west and entered the woods. While the trees in the outskirts looked normal, the deeper into the forest they ventured the more warped and hunched the trees became. Instead of growing upwards, they spiraled sideways; bent unnaturally, often their crowns lay twisted on the ground. Skittering sounds and movement of something just out of sight replaced the silence.

  In the night, Mika’s eyes glimmered like a demon’s. She grew nervous. Dread crept into her. With the flames flickering in the darkness, she thought she saw eyeless distorted faces staring down at her. Her fear turned to panic and images of the past flashed in her mind: a middle-aged man and girl, no older than fifteen, stood behind a beautiful woman draped in black feathers; she held newborn twins, a boy and a girl. A red and blue crystal hung from their tiny necks. Standing before her were an old man and a young woman: she took the boy while he took the girl. A loud raven’s kaaw flooded the scene. There were flames. They ran out of a house and into the streets. Homes burned. The city burned. Ravens blotted out the sun. Kaaw!

  As they fled, the woman in black feathers appeared before the middle-aged man and girl. “This if for your sake,” the woman said and cast a spell upon them. Their silhouettes became beastly and a giant crow descended upon them. Kaaw!

  Mika exploded with howling.

  Kaaw!

  The whole group jumped in fright.

  Kaaw!

  “The Raven King is coming!” Mika screamed. Taking in quick breaths, she looked around anxiously. She was back in the dark woods of Mundialis.

  “Shut up!” Ciego said. Mika became silent. They trekked on, passing an ancient and torn bridge whose decaying foundation sat overgrown with ivy. As they crossed over a shallow river, Clementine slipped on the slick stones and tumbled into the cold water. Sordos pulled her up to her feet and dragged her to the shore.

  “Ya ought be more careful,” said Bruto. “Ya die, we can’t get no nothin’ from ya. Ya die, ya left gray and with no color.”

  “Where are your shoes, girl?” Ciego said, looking down at her.

  “I lost them,” she said. Ciego looked at Bruto.

  “She lost ‘em,” Bruto shrugged.

  They reached a hill where the twisted trees grew closer together, making it nearly impossible to pass between them. The color poachers directed their captives east where they came upon a system of underground tunnels running underneath the hills. The poachers knew their way around and, without much hesitation, made their way through the tunneled maze.

  The darkness of the tunnels made Mika uneasy. The poachers scolded her when she burst out into whining sonatas. Melancholy came over her. “It’s all right,” Nir said from atop Clementine’s shoulder. “There is nothing here to be frightened of.”

  “There is, Papa,” Mika said. “I smell coal and rot…”

  Ciego saw Clementine’s bag move. Having listened to what Mika had said, Clementine knew what was coming: she wiggled free of the satchel’s strap and quickly darted into one of the tunnels. Mika followed. Meanwhile, the poachers watched as a great smoke and coal spider emerged from the satchel. It gave a great hiss and darted into the darkness after Clementine. The poachers followed.

  Clementine charged through the maze blindly, turning into any tunnel that came up. Some tunnels were used more often than others, their brickwork clear of moss and their floors solid. Those less traveled sat overgrown with plants and fungus, their floor muddy and slick, which made running through them that much more difficult for a barefooted girl. The darkness was blinding, the only illumination came from the moon hidden beyond the overcast sky.

  The spider located her quickly. It ran along the ceiling and jumped between clearings to gain even more ground on its prey. As she entered a clearing, the spider tripped her up. She fell and Nir slid off her shoulder. The spider hissed and charged. Mika jumped in but the arachnid swatted her aside. Clementine rolled out of the way just in time.

  “Run,” Nir said and she obeyed darting into the nearest tunnel. She cleared the archway but halfway down the clearing the spider’s black webbing tripped her up. Enormous and hissing, the creature slowly emerged from the tunnel. Its eyes glimmered and a faint light shined from within its unhinged jaws.

  “You shouldn’t have come,” a malevolent voice echoed within her head. “But I’m glad you did. I can feast on your color.”

  The spider took a step toward her. A flash of turquoise appeared behind it. Clementine watched as a large creature best described as having a turquoise tiger’s body with white stripes, large eyes, a dog’s snout with four nostrils, four tails and large candle-flame ears, sprang up into the air and smashed down onto the spider, which shattered into a hundred pieces of coal.

  Clementine stared into the creature’s star-shaped pupils.

  “Who are you?” she asked. The creature smiled. Its ears moved, listening for danger. It walked up to her, its huge head inches from hers. Its four nostrils flared as it took one sniff. It jumped, rose into the air, and vanished beyond the tree line. With blades up, and the gecko and hound in hand, the poachers appeared instantaneously.

  “Where is it?” asked Ciego.

  “It’s dead,” Clementine said, pointing at the coal. Sordos cut the black webbing from her feet and looked up at his compatriots.

  “You had the Other’s spawn in your bag,” Ciego asked. “Why?”

  “I’m cursed,” Clementine said, hopeful they would let them go at the news. The poachers burst into laughter.

  “We not all that far away,” Bruto said. “Let’s go.”

  Deep in the maze, the satchel moved again as a buzzing came from within it and, along with long fly-like legs, fleshy black wings emerged from it. The strange boy in torn clothes walked up to it, and as the bag began to transform into a hideous and hairy fly creature, he petted it as if it were a delicate dog. “There, there, my dear,” the boy said. “We won’t let her go, not after she’s killed off your three brothers.”

  The fox followed their scent to the edge of the labyrinth, but after venturing further into it, their trail faded, replaced by the smell of rot and coal. He wondered around looking for any sign of where his companions may have gone.

  Earlier, when they camped, he wandered off following a path lined with hyssops that lead him to a sprawling tree overgrown with hundreds of these lavender colored flowers. They swayed before him and their shade changed until the face of the woman from before appeared within them.

  “Delicata,” the fox said after a moment of mental strain.

  She smiled. “You remember,” she said. “Keep on doing so. Do not allow the twilight to cloud your memory.”

  “Have you come to aid me?”

  “I have come to reassure you.”

  They stared at each other in silence.

  “Are you…are you alive?”

  “Not in the normal sense,
” she said. “I am present as a rain drop is in a sea.”

  “Where?”

  “My being is in the world,” she said. “But my knowledge is trapped inside the Infinity Satchel. If they consume the satchel, they consume me. I will no longer know who I am, and along with the thousands trapped here with me, I will fade, existing only in your memory.”

  “They?”

  “They,” she said and the hyssops grew black. The woman’s face diminished and three faces of wickedness appeared: power, malice, and trickery.

  “They!” the fox said, and as he remembered the attack on the caravan, the boy who was not a boy, and the Pale Rider, he grew in size and fury. The ashen face. The scarlet pin upon his armor. The bow. The arrows. The blood pouring from the vixen. It all flooded into the fox.

  He gave off feral noises. The savage will for vengeance clouded his humanity. The nails in his paws grew thick and sharp. His teeth grew large and beastly. His body took on muscle mass and he looked more like a twisted wolf than a fox.

  “Gideon,” he heard Delicata’s voice and calm seeped into his mind. His body regressed to its vulpine state, and when he came to, he was violently gnawing at the base of the tree trunk. He stepped back in horror and spit out the bark. Delicata looked down upon him.

  “Please help her,” a man’s voice said, and blooming beside Delicata were the faces of Alice and Bell Aurelius. There was a loud crash. Without another glance, the fox ran toward the noise. From atop a bluff, he saw as three men abducted his companions, and he followed them as best as he could.

  The maze was ancient. Overgrown with plants, depictions of ancient creatures and long past trials lined the walls. What was once a bustling complex of pictures highways stood dilapidated and decaying. The fox climbed upwards and found himself in a large circular room. From somewhere high above, moonlight illumined three towering stone statues: one of a coiled serpent, another of a wolf, and the final of a hare with four ears, its face missing. The fox looked at these behemoths and a chill ran down his spine. Suddenly, he smelled burning flesh. Off in the shadow, behind the statue of the hare, he saw a silhouette of a skeletal man with four rabbit ears protruding from his head. The fox growled.