Arji's War

The vines and leaves scrapped against a young boy’s face. He pushed on deeper into the forest. He breathed heavily as he tramped on through the dirt; his boots covered in a thick layer of sand and growing darker by the minute. The grooves of his pants began to grow heavy as pieces of the brush and dirt began to tug and clamp onto his wet form. His clothes were made of fine linens, but that seemed to only make his situation worse. His black hair stuck to the sides of his face as his green eyes took in the expanse of the forest as he moved forward.

“Go back, boy,” a voice whispered.

The boy turned, his face suddenly alert, but even as he stared out, he knew no one was there. The forest began to shift even as it stayed perfectly still. He blinked, feeling his lungs fill with an odd, cool air. It was humid and warm, but suddenly his body was chilled.

He moved faster. If he were younger, a voice like that might scare him, but he was already a ripe fourteen. Nothing could scare someone on the brink of adulthood – at least that’s what he told himself. The boy was gangly, awkward, not at all built for adventure in a mysterious forest, but he was determined. Even as he moved, his large hand hovered over a small gun on his side. Would it even do much in this place?

The island was a warning; something dismal everyone avoided. There were many random pieces of land floating around, but this one in particular called to the boy. Something made him want to stop here, and even as he trudged around, he could feel his attention getting pulled deeper in. He would know this place when no one else dared.

Already, his mind thought back to his boat. Sure, exploring the island would be fun, but he hoped he tied it well to the rocks. Should a storm or a passerby take it away, he would be doing more than hiking.

The boy sighed to himself. He shouldn’t worry himself about such things. Here was better than home, and he’d rather survive the rest of his years in this forbidden place than face his father once more. The cruel man’s face came into his mind, and the boy shook his head hard, nearly stumbling off an edge of the path. Once the boy steadied himself, he tried to collect his thoughts.

“He’ll die one day,” he reassured himself. And it was more than a calming thought. The father was a monster, especially after war. A brutal man who spent his free time drinking and smacking around his son. The only child he had, the only one he would ever have, yet nothing more than a body in the house to brutalize and humiliate.

“Stand up,” the father would bark. “Stand up, so I can knock you down again.”

The boy shivered, noticing again how the forest seemed to make him so cold. The voice of his father echoed through his head and the bruises seemed to hide further under his skin. He was fourteen now and growing larger everyday, but still in no position to fight back; though he was so close to being a man, he was not close enough.

Yes, the boy thought, here would be a much better place.

His intention at first, when he sailed a few days before, was just to get away. Sometimes, distance was better for both father and son. As he drifted further and further out, however, he wondered if he should turn back. Just as his supplies ran low and his boredom kicked in, the boy seemed to float directly to this island.

It is destiny, the boy wondered. Nothing happened by chance, and he knew that. Even his father’s loss in war, the casualties, the chaos – it wasn’t for nothing.

“Weak child,” someone hissed.

“Deceiver,” another called out.

The boy shifted, trying to find the source, but they seemed to be different people coming from different directions.

“Prophecy stealer.”

“Murderer.”

“Leave the jungle.”

“The worst son.”

A spark of life hit the boy and suddenly he felt his heart beat hard. Out of the jungle a man walked boldly. He was strong and tall, his black hair short, his beard and mustache trimmed far too nicely. His bushy eyebrows were menacing caterpillars hanging above his sick, green eyes. The man was dressed in military attire, black with a band of red on either shoulder, topped with sparkling silver medals dangling from a pocket on the left.

The boy shook. “Father, I—”

The man grimaced. “Disgraceful. Running through a forest like some kind of wild inbred? What would your mother say if she had lived through the war? Do you think she’d be proud?”

The boy dropped to his knees, but they didn’t hit the ground. Instead, he started to fall through the air. The wind whipped around his hair and clothes, and he suddenly noticed they were dry. The sun fell away and the blue sky hidden by plants was darkened and alight with hints of stars.

The boy gasped as he reached out, trying to stop his eminent fall. His hands brushed the sky, a thick black liquid stained his palms. The boy tried to gasp, but the stars began to shake and fall with him. He was taking the sky; he was pulling the heavens down with him.

Turning over fast, he reached out to find dirt clumped in his fist. The boy examined what lie in front of him. It was cold, too cold. His hands were nearly black, his fingernails nearly busting. He breathed in the heavy metal smell of fresh, wet dirt, pushing himself up sharply. The ground tilted this way and that, so he laid back down.

The world began to spin fast, the jungle filled with light, but somehow too dark to see through. The sky was gone, blotted out by the growth. No – he thought, holding back the urge to vomit. I destroyed the sky, I took it all down, he thought.

“Destroyer.”

“Punishment.”

“You will die here.”

“Shadow man.”

The voices were suffocating. They seemed to never stop. Even as the boy began to roll in agony, he wished for just a moment of peace. He could feel his clothes crinkle beneath him, and he knew he had been in this place a long while. Days? Weeks?

The boy tried to take a few deep breaths. He knew he had to rest. He would not escape this or be able to think clearly until he slept. The voices could continue, but he would find peace. With the rolling black of his mind, came a deep rest.

“What peaceful sleep,” a voice grumbled loudly. “There is nothing like the youth of a child.”

The voice was startlingly different than the rest. The boy awoke, realizing the voice was real and somewhere in front of him. Panicked, he drew his gun, shaking as he held it out to a plain forest. It was daylight, but the sun had scorched the land; the humidity seemed to grasp everything tightly, making the plants sweat.

“You cannot kill me with that.” The man laughed, and his voice lingered as though he was standing over the boy.

As if by magic, a form started to appear. The boy blinked as a strong man came into view. This one was burley and broad; he had a large smile with sharp teeth and tanned skin with a touch of pink. He was wearing old clothing, wrapped loosely around his form with decrepit shoes, that were more delicately sewn fabric than normal leather. The man’s head shined, empty of hair, as he moved his head to stare down curiously.

“Who are you?” The boy asked.

The man tilted his head. “I am the silencer of the rest. My voice and power are greater than anyone else on this island.” The man put his vast arms out on either side. “I was a king and a god.”

At this the boy became suspicious, but the man dropped down to a knee, watching with dark eyes. “I have answered your question. Now, tell me, who are you? How did you come to this island?”

The boy sat up, but he noticed he felt better. This could be a trick, though his mind was clearer than when he had drifted ashore. This illusion was asking him questions, but there seemed to be no harm.

“My name is Vold DeFals. I am a prince. My father, Verys DeFals is a king, though his kingdom is gone.”

The man became extremely interested. “Where was his kingdom?”

“In Arji,” Vold answered, his teenage voice squeaking. It had been a while since he had been able to talk about his home planet. “There was a war, a long war that my father and others lost. The Prast versus the Lome empires. The Lome lost, and we all were pushed back into Finis.” Vold swallowed. “Here,” he added slowly.

The man stroked his smooth, long chin.

“We made a deal with the Queen of Finis. She offered us land as long as we helped defend Finis if outsiders attacked. The Prast are still strong, and there is no telling when they might come to finish us and take the last planet.”

“So, your father was King of Arji?”

Vold’s face crumpled. “There is no one king in Arji. The planet is too big for just one, there was once as many as fifty. My father was king over a vast plot of land in the southern hemisphere.”

The man tossed his head back and laughed.

“What is so funny?” Vold questioned, growing angry with the man.

“You say that no one can be King of Arji,” the man said with a giant smirk. “I was ruler of all four planets. Emperor of Polathrin, Arji, Highlends, and Finis.”

Vold’s mouth fell open and he shifted where he sat. He was skeptical of this imaginary man, but somehow his words seemed true. “What is your name?”

The man took a deep breath, eyeing the boy before he answered, “Gromalin was my birth name, but most call me Grom.”

“How did you become a ruler of all the planets?” Vold whispered, sensing a power growing from the man as he spoke.

Grom shook his head. “That is not a story for right now. My story is long and old, and you can learn it in time.” He raised his head. “I have a question for you, Prince Vold DeFals.” Vold tried to sit up straight as Grom leaned in. “Do you want power?”

Vold didn’t take long to answer. The word flowed from him like a breath, “Yes.”

“What would you do if you had unlimited power?”

Vold felt his heart race. “I would destroy the Prast in Arji, and I would kill my father.”

Grom began to smile. “I too wished for the death of my mother.” His eyes flicked to the forest behind Vold. “Do you have any siblings?”

“No,” Vold answered.

“Then you are not cursed like me,” Grom answered, turning back to Vold. “My mother was a soulless immortal. She wished for the death of me and my brother. I knew she was an evil woman, so I convinced my brother to kill her.” Grom paused, a smile turning up one side of his lips, “Though we didn’t just kill her, but we consumed her flesh so that we could become greater than her. When we did, we became immortal, just like her.”

Vold felt fear creep up, but he was not a dumb kid. If this ghostly man intended to eat him, he would have. Grom had bigger things in mind, and Vold wanted to know. A man who eats his mother is not a man, but instead a creature of terror.

“Do you fear me?” Grom asked.

“There’s a myth,” Vold whispered. “It is similar to your tale, and a part of it has always stuck with me. Parents are useless until they are destroyed, until their power is in the hand of their creation.” Vold met Grom’s eyes. “I do not fear you, but I also do not understand your purpose in talking to me.”

Grom smirked. “You are not a stupid boy.” The man stood up. “I am limited in this forest; my power is weakened without a physical form. You could get me out, and if you did, I could give you all the power you want.”

“How?”

Grom raised a hand to point deep into the island. “Bring someone to me, a woman from the religious sector. They call themselves Colorines. Deliver one of them to this island and then I will show you; I will grant you the largest army in all four worlds.”

………

Vold looked out from the shore of the island. Ahead, towers and a dark, black wall could be seen rounding a large defense, but there was a large gap of sky above. The arch was closed, but it was no bother. Vold tapped a finger to his chin, watching a boat make its way from the walls across the water. The sun glared out, so he stepped back under the shade a bit.

The sand drifted onto his shoe and he glared down at it, annoyed. The boots of his childhood were now replaced with shined leather. His nice linens, now dress pants and a white button up with rolled up sleeves. He was older, stronger, and smarter than his fourteen-year-old self. He had made a name in a trade his father thought useless, but it had grown quite lucrative for him.

The boat stopped and a man jumped out. There was a hood on his head, though Vold could easily see the man’s face.

“What do you have?” Vold asked sternly.

“The families are officially stable in Highlends. Reilly Umbrada sits still as Prime Minister and it appears no one will be able to usurp him as the Prast finalize their vote dominance in congress. The cities of Arji are busy, but quiet.” The man shifted his weight. “There’s rumors that Polathrin is running out of jobs. The war is done, their time is up, but no one seems sure of what to do with it or its people. What’s more, out of Polathrin, a mysterious religious group has made a name for themselves in Arji. The Colorines –”

Vold sucked in a breath. It had been almost five years since he had heard the words, but he knew they were the same Grom once uttered.

The man was too flustered to continue, letting his hood fall a bit as he stared at Vold with wide eyes.

“It begins then,” Vold said. “Triple your pay for the general to meet me. Tell him to use his power when the arch opens to bring a Colorine. Dead or alive, I don’t care.”

The man’s eyes grew wide. “Sir, the general –”

Vold waved a hand. “Tell General Yama to bring a woman to me for the reward or I will request his head. Without my support, he could have had quite a terrible time in Finis.” Vold stepped close. “And there’s still time before Cosmo’s Arch opens, so I’d suggest you hurry.”

………

Vold looked down at the body. The woman was freshly deceased, though Yama didn’t say when or how she had died. Fresh seemed best.

The boat dipped strongly as they came close, and Vold waved to his men to stop the boat. The small, mechanical ship slowed. It took Yama over six months to find and bring the girl, but he did it all the same. As Vold jumped off the ship onto sand, he turned to see his men watching carefully, swallowing hard as he motioned for them to follow.

“Prince,” one started.

“This is a cursed island,” another answered. “Cosmo’s Garden – not many survive.”

Vold brushed back his hair, trying to calm himself. “You definitely won’t if you don’t obey my orders. Bring the body.”

He turned, walking ahead, knowing full well they would listen. If there was one good thing about having a ruthless father, it was the servants’ devotion to surviving. The king had killed quite a few people in his drunken rage, and they had seen Vold match his father’s anger all too well.

They dragged the body until Vold stopped. It wasn’t far, but Vold felt it was good enough. He waved his men away and they fled faster than they could think. Vold looked down at the girl. She had flowing red hair, curls for miles; her brown eyes were empty, and her pale face was still open in shock.

“What a devious man you’ve grown to be,” a voice bellowed. “I see you put trust in me.”

Vold was not shocked as he looked up to see the smiling, bald man. “I’ve brought your Colorine.”

Grom smiled down at the girl. “Yes, you have.” Grom knelt down next to the body, placing his hand on the girl’s hand. Instead of remaining on top, his form sunk in. He breathed in sharp, soaking his body into hers. Little by little, the man disappeared.

Vold watched as there was nothing but silence. He curiously stepped around, kneeling down to look into the girl’s face. Nothing was different, and then suddenly, her eyes were awake. A deep breath was pulled into dead lungs; her body wrenching upward as she looked to her hands.

Even as she stood up, Vold could see the difference in how the girl would have moved versus how she moved now. It was disorderly, almost like a drugged person. She choked and coughed until a sound escaped. “It will take me a while to get used to this body.”

Vold stood up and stepped back. “What will you do with her?”

A smile started to cross her colorless lips. “They used to call me the bloodmark eater,” Grom tried to straighten his shoulders as he took a step forward. “I can see.”

Vold took another step back. “You can see what?”

A deep chuckle escaped the girl’s lips as her eyes rolled back. “I can see our futures.” Grom growled, the body tilting to the side dangerously, “This cannot last long. Make me a body suited for a god.” He tossed an arm out, even as the torso was bent in half with a terrible cracking sound. “Take the bones from the tomb. Then it will all begin.”

Vold looked to where he pointed, noticing a nice cut of rock covered with vines. “Whose tomb is this?”

“She was the cause of my fall, now she will be the reason I rise.”

“Can you not use this body?” Vold asked, turning back to Grom.

“She is weak,” Grom whispered. There was a sickly moan as both arms dropped. He rolled his torso back, but now, he could only see the sky as the spine was nearly broken by the toppling weight. “I can control her, but she will not last long. When I leave this island, I must be invincible.”

Vold narrowed his eyes. “These bones, but what else?”

Grom laughed out of sight. “Anything to give me power.”

“How is all of this going to play out?” Vold asked lightly, though he could feel the hesitation riding on the tail of his words.

Grom did not turn around as he spoke. “Kings are fearful things, Vold. I will place a prophecy into the arms of King Rim Bellarian, and he will be ravaged by it until he is forced to enter Finis and forsake Polathrin. He will die here in this forest, because I will tell him of a person who will rise to conquer Polathrin, Arji, Highlends, and Finis. He will know without the conquering of Finis and deserting the rotting moon, it will mean the end of the Bellarians.”

Vold looked around the forest curiously. “You intend to plant a false prophecy among the Bellarians to ensure they destroy themselves?”

At this Grom’s new head tilted forward with a smile. “A prophecy has no life without breath. I will put a curse into words. They will see signs, never knowing what is false and what is true.”

Vold nodded, slowly at first, but then he picked up pace. He would take the bones, he would make a body, and he would add very special pieces. If Grom was going to bring the end of one of his biggest enemies, he would complete any and all tasks.

……….

The plane dropped the box, and Vold untied the cord. The ship was quick to leave, even if the men inside were not on the island. Vold grimaced. He hated the men more and more every day. Perhaps that was why his father was so cruel. For two years, Vold had worked on a body, and now, it was done. Too large for a water carrier, too large for men to move.

A crack of bone made Vold turn. Before him, a girl with a sunken mouth and sunken eyes stood. She seemed more controlled, walking much better than before, but her movements were robotic. Vold watched, noticing the red hair was nearly all gone, and her skin was nothing more than translucent wrapping.

“You have brought me my body?” Grom asked, sounding more like his usual self. Had the girl’s voice died away just as her hair and blood?

“It is ready for you, though the parts are not as fresh.”

Grom smirked. “They do not need to be. Your electricity will be enough.” Grom turned his head slowly out toward the forest. “Drop this body on the rotten moon. Make sure they’re all dead, the whole planet. I need a moon filled with anger, hatred, and death.”

“Most are gone,” Vold answered. “The Prast made sure of that.”

Grom shook his head painfully. “There will be more alive. Kill them all. Finish the planet for good.”

Vold nodded. “What about the bones from the tomb? Why did you need the woman’s remains?”

Grom took half hazard steps toward the box. “Her bloodmark was raising the dead to fight for her,” he smiled. “I will raise an army greater than the one that brought my empire down.”

Vold’s curiosity grew. “You told me you would give your story. Before you get this new body, I deserve to know your full tale.”

Grom reached for the box, running a boney hand over the side. “It’s like I said from the start. My brother and I ate our mother. When we gained her immortality, we wanted more. We were kids, fools eager to do anything for power.”

“Who was your brother?”

Grom seemed irritated at the question. “His name was Sorrel, but he went by Sor.” He shook his head. “Sor and I ate bloodmarks. We wanted everlasting control. We became power. We shared our meals, our women, our power. We started in Finis, but there wasn’t much here. We traveled to Highlends, to Arji, to Polathrin. We grew so strong, leaders bowed to us. We demanded wealth, we commanded armies, we anointed kings. The planets were ours, every bloodmark was ours. We were invincible.”

“Until?” Vold pushed, eager to know what would make such a man fall.

“Sor said he was tired. He wanted to settle down, so he asked to be king of Highlends. I had a king for every planet, bowing to me, but overseeing my rule. He wanted to step down from emperor to king, and though I was distraught, I gave it to him. I was in search of a new bloodmark, the power to raise the dead. I should have known.”

Grom sighed. “Sor fell in love, though I was not sure with who. The bloodmark I hunted down disappeared. People thought the person who wielded it, an unknown stranger, was dead. I ravaged the land, but nothing turned up.

“I went to Sor in Highlends. By then he had many children and grandchildren. His bounty was plenty, but my hands were empty. I could not understand why he shied away from me. My own brother, my flesh and blood. And then, I realized. I could see the betrayal in his eyes.

“An attack was made by a horde of the dead. They pushed my troops back into Finis, where we were slaughtered until we got to this island. Here is where the last of my men fell on the shore. Sor came, along with the woman who had the power to control the dead. They had worked together, though even Sor had a guilt in his face that was too recognizable. He had always felt pity, even for our mother, but he was walking into death. I knew I had to kill him, and he knew he had to kill me. Brother against brother.

“He charged, but I was faster. I stabbed him through the stomach with a sword. His eyes were too determined. He began to pull the sword out, but instead broke it in half with his strength. He turned the broken hilt on me, slicing through my heart.”

“You both died,” Vold replied.

Grom suddenly looked sad. “We died, but my soul was strong. Even as my flesh rotted, my bones buried, the sword piece taken, I could watch and hear and see everything. I was alive only in spirit; a soul trapped in this garden for all eternity. I couldn’t bare it, but I saw my opportunity in a boy full of hate who stumbled onto this island as though it was his fate.”

“My father said I was worth nothing, but I always knew I would rise above them all.”

Grom grinned. “Fathers are never right.” Suddenly there was a shaking as the body fell away, leaving the strong looking, ghostly man. He smiled at Vold, “I am ready. Although this body will need a spark to get it going, it will also take time. It will take more effort than that girl, especially as the power of this garden will fade from me.”

Vold nodded, climbing up the side of the crate.

“One last thing,” Grom whispered, appearing next to Vold. “When I am gone, find the body of my brother in this forest. Take the other half of the sword from his chest and hide it from our enemies.”

Vold cracked open the wooden casing to reveal a giant form lying quietly in the box. Grom shuddered next to him.

“It is beautiful,” he muttered. “The eyes,” Grom added, looking to Vold.

“A parting gift from my now deceased father.” Vold smiled.

Grom smirked in return. “Quite the untimely death for a king.”

“But the perfect chance for a new one.”