Fairy Tales (The Two Moons of Rehnor, Book 15) Page 8

  “Heal. Heal. Heal,” the doctor sang to a chorus of Dirkeh's moans. “I call upon the spirits to fix this brother’s ankle and his knee. I respectfully request you repair any other part of him that’s broken, including his head, which seems absent of some brains or other organs.”

  "What?" Dirkeh gasped from the mat on the floor.

  "Please!" Gani wailed, tugging at Vinz's hand. "Can't you see this isn’t helping?" Giant tears formed in the monkey girl's lilac eyes, consuming the remorseful Vinz with even more guilt.

  "I'm sorry," he muttered, quickly backing out the medicine man’s door. "I've got a plane to catch, or rather, a sailing ship. It's time for me to leave. Goodbye."

  "Please," Gani begged a third time, now grasping Vinz's leg and clinging to him with her tail. This was ultimately how Vinz came to be in possession of three tickets for the ocean passage, having assuaged his unfounded guilt by bringing the two along.

  After purchasing the tickets, Vinz acquired a chair with wheels, whereupon he returned to the medicine hut, and hefted Dirkeh into it.

  Fortunately, Vinz was strong from walking across the continent for several years, despite his advanced age, and thin frame. Dirkeh was scrawny and weak, thus not much heavier than a child, making it easy for little Gani to push the chair.

  The third to last thing Gani desired was to board another boat for another extended ocean crossing on turbulent waves. The second to last thing she wanted was to remain in Karupatani, where the old women were even more catty than those on the Dark Continent. The very last thing Gani would choose, should she have been given an option to decide, would be to return to her home on the continent to the south. In fact, that proposition was so distasteful, Gani optioned for door number three, the ocean voyage, while attending to Dirkeh, a man she hardly knew, but pretended to care for.

  In exchange for a bunk and board, Gani agreed to see to Dirkeh’s every wish and need, as he was confined to the wheeled chair day and night.

  First, she would push him out on the deck in order that the injured man might get a breath of fresh sea air, which also included a fair amount of rain, wind, and sometimes snow or hail. After which, she'd run and fetch the men their meals. In between, she'd bring Dirkeh a towel, or his pissing pot. As she did this, the deck was usually rocking to and fro, or up and down.

  While leaning over the railing to spill her guts into the foamy cold waters of the Farku Sea, Gani considered that she hated this voyage even more so than the last one. At least the last trip began in warm, sunny weather, while this one was completely frigid all the time.

  Far away, on a distant shore, where the sun first appeared in the horizon, lay this continent of advanced civilization, music, and art. It was home to the galaxy's greatest and most beautiful Imperial Palace, and equally awesome Emperor, who everyone had loved and adored. There the streets were paved with gold, bordered in platinum, and studded with precious jewels. Simply by being there, one became amazingly prosperous, knowledgeable, kind, and rich.

  At least, that's what Gani had heard. Someone, she couldn’t recall who, had told her exactly that, so as soon as Dirkeh was settled in the hospital, she planned to head to the streets to collect her fair share. An emerald, a ruby, a sapphire, and two diamonds were on her list, and if she could dig up some gold, she’d attempt to do that too.

  "Gani," Vinz called. "Dirkeh has spilled again. Run and fetch a clean towel and some water in a bowl."

  Pulling her head in from over the rail, Gani trudged back down to the bowels of the ship, to their tiny, windowless cabin next to the bilge.

  Since they were only three, and the cabin had four bunks, another man was sharing the passage with them. He was a strange alien fellow called Bork, apparently young with long blonde hair, and an unremarkable face to Gani, who thought all aliens looked alike.

  Bork was dressed in a plain blue sheath, which covered most of his body and the back of his head, but one afternoon while he lay sleeping on his bunk, Gani walked in to discover there was significantly more to him.

  Bork had been tossing and turning, his dreams turbulent, and his stomach queasy from the difficult ride. Hence, his blankets were tossed off, and his gown ridden up to expose no less than eight long arms. Gani didn’t count them all. In fact, she was so disturbed by the vision before her, she ran from the room, trying to unsee what had been before her eyes. She didn’t stop running until she was safely on deck, having forgotten the reason she had gone below.

  “Interesting,” Vinz had murmured, when Gani apprised him of their shipmate’s situation. “I bet he’s from Squideo II. That certainly explains why he has brought so many suitcases aboard. The tariff rules clearly state, one piece of baggage per passenger arm.”

  Indeed, Bork had stashed beneath his bunk eight trunks supposedly containing his personal goods, whereas Gani had nothing, no trunks, and neither a good to put in them. In fact, all she wore was the burlap sack given to her on the previous ship, and the raccoon cape, the gift from Dirkeh when they first met. However, Bork’s boxes intrigued her, and being the very curious sort, she determined to find out what was in them.

  On the morning when Gani arrived in the cabin to fetch the bowl and towel, she discovered that Bork was absent, presenting a prime opportunity to her. She quickly unlocked a latch and opened a lid to peer inside a trunk full of strange shiny things. Each was about the length of Gani’s two feet if she put them toe to heel, with a width as round as two of her small hands. The objects were made of a hard, cold metal, and were heavy to heft without the assistance of her tail.

  “Do you know what they are?” a voice said behind her, shocking her such that she let the lid fall shut. “They’re dangerous weapons,” Bork announced, striding across the room. “Far too dangerous for a little monkey girl to touch. You might slice off a hand or incinerate yourself. You wouldn’t want to do that, now would you?”

  “Oh no,” Gani whispered. “What are they?”

  “Light swords.” Bork moved in front of his bunk, protecting the boxes with the skirt of his long blue robe. “The Karuts make the best. They use a top secret technology saved from when they crashed on this planet a millennium ago. The Mishaks will pay a pretty penny for every one I bring.”

  “Oh.” Gani glanced around, seeking the towel and the bowl, while Bork reached down with one of his hands and popped the lid on another trunk.

  “That’s not all I have,” he chortled, prompting Gani to turn and watch. This trunk was full of pouches stuffed with a fine white powder. “Have you tried Horkin?” Bork extracted one using the tiny suction cup on the end of his long, thin finger. “Go ahead. I bet you’ll like it very much.”

  Hesitantly, Gani approached, eyeing the pouch curiously, wondering what she ought to do. She had never heard of Horkin, and had no clue what it might entail.

  “Put your finger in.” Bork demonstrated. “Mmmm.” He put it in his mouth and licked it with his tongue. “Everyone wants Horkin. Even His Imperial Majesty used to love it when he was young. Come on, monkey girl. You and I are going to have some fun.”

  Gani liked fun. Fun was always a good thing, so she dipped her finger in and licked the powder. It wasn’t sweet like she expected. Actually, it didn’t seem to have a taste at all, but rather left a dry and dusty feeling upon her tongue.

  “More,” Bork suggested, filling another one of his suction cups, so Gani followed his example and dipped again. This time when she put it in her mouth, the ship began to rock more violently than before. In fact, a giant wave of blue sea water rushed in from beneath the door.

  Gani screamed and leapt for her bunk above Dirkeh’s bed, while Bork sealed the pouch and put it away.

  “The water!” Gani gasped. “You’ll drown.”

  “A squid?” Bork laughed, removing his blue cloak.

  Gani stared at his limbs, all eight arms, two legs, and the thing in between, which shockingly, was nearly as long as one of the others.

  “Come down here, or I will have to come up to y
ou.” Bork waggled a finger at the girl who was now hanging from the lamp upon the ceiling. Psychedelic water swirled about the tiny cabin, changing colors from blues to reds to greens, and finally settling on yellow, just like Bork’s hair.

  Surprisingly, Gani wasn’t afraid of the water at all. In fact, it reminded her of the gentle sea at home, and the blonde hair upon Bork’s head was reminiscent of the golden sun. A giggle erupted from her throat as she swung by her tail in rhythm with the rocking of the ship.

  “Catch me, squid man,” she called, flying past Bork.

  A long tentacle shot out and tried to grab her, but the lithe Dark girl was far too spritely. She leapt from the ceiling to Vinz’s bed, and from there to the ledge of the door, while each time, Bork sent two of his arms out to ensnare her. A moment later, like a giant flower, Bork encompassed the entire room. With stamen and stigma at the ready, only pollination needed to occur.

  Having come in search of the towel and bowl, which Gani apparently had forgotten, Vinz found the Dark girl and squid man clustered in a state of immodest animation. Before him stood an odd amalgamation of arms, legs, tail, and private parts writhing and humping and creating all sorts of noise.

  “Aliens,” Vinz said with a sigh and shut the door, wishing also that he could unsee what he had unfortunately just witnessed. He returned to the promenade deck, to the chair where Dirkeh was both filthy and fast asleep, counting the minutes until this nasty voyage would be over.

  Chapter 10

  Marik Korelesk, by the tender age of ten, had become the kingpin drug dealer in the city of Farku. Although he had wandered the Mishnese countryside, spending time and doing crime in every major metropolis, Farku was the place he eventually based his operations. This was primarily due to Farku’s proximity to Karupatani, only an ocean’s breadth away across the Farku Sea, or a short speeder ride of under an hour, for those lucky enough to own fast speeders.

  Marik’s suppliers were all Karuptas, their fertile land no longer filling their bread baskets with fresh wheat, but rather given over to the more profitable production of Horkin and Barkuti crops.

  In addition to the illicit drugs, Marik dabbled in the weapons trade, importing and subsequently exporting the Karupta’s premium light swords. To that end, Marik became the premier supplier of the sought-after Karupta goods, which made him nearly as powerful as the long lost Emperor in this difficult, decrepit, and declining Rehnorian society.

  Having spent his childhood, such as it was, in both countries, young Marik was fluent in both Mishnese and Karupta. This gave him a distinct advantage over other would-be thug masters, who had difficulty communicating with either the dealers or traders on either side of the transaction. That wasn’t his only advantage, though. In fact, Marik had a résumé that read as a perfect application for his job. Starting with his education, work experience, physical features, and finally, his genetic makeup, the boy was the ideal applicant for the position of Dark Lord of the Streets.

  In terms of his education, Marik’s formative years, from his earliest memory until the present time, consisted of a host of petty, and not so petty crimes. Some of them were committed with his mother’s guidance, the once princess, Imperial SpaceNavy doctor, and finally, murderous witch, Hannah of Shrotru.

  After Hannah was committed to prison for all of her mortal life, Marik branched out to find other teachers on the street. His post-secondary education was taught by the worst scrounges roaming the streets, most of whom the boy went on to rule, or kill.

  Marik had the benefit of his physical presence, which was larger than most men, having inherited the enormous bones, and tall stature of his great-grandfather, Loman. The boy could easily be mistaken for a man nearly twice his age, or even more, which combined with his razor sharp intellect, allowed him to pull off the ruse.

  Although Marik was half Karupta, and half Mishnese, neither race, nor society held any greater attraction or loyalty to him. Rather, he saw each as an opportunity for exploitation, as both were comprised of fools who he would first endear, and later, stab in the back.

  Poor Marik’s life need not have been so pernicious. Although his birth was illegitimate, he was of noble blood on both sides. Unfortunately, due to the lack of parental presence, he had no in-depth knowledge of how truly wellborn he was. As a direct descent of the Saint of Mishnah, through the Korelesk family, he could potentially have made a claim to the family duchy.

  On the Karupta side, Hannah, had always claimed to be descended from the original Duke of Shrotru. Second only to the powerful de Kudisha family, which had ruled Karupatani since time immortal began, Marik had bloodlines nearly as regal as the Emperor himself.

  In any case, Marik had no interest in Korelesk or Karupatani beyond the profitable channels he had established to manage his trades. A stately manor house, and a seat on what remained of the nearly defunct Imperial Council provided no attraction to someone whose pockets were already lined with a significant amount of gold.

  What Marik did want in this life was not something easily defined. Having accomplished all that he had done at this tender age, the boy wondered what more there was left for him to do. He had no desire to go to school, no reason to learn anything beyond the trade he had developed.

  Granted, there was love out on the horizon, yet that was a concept too obscure for the young boy to understand, as despite his size, his mental and physical development was still that of a child.

  There was his long lost mother, although Marik didn’t care much for reuniting with her. As far as he knew, she was safely cloistered in a prison cell somewhere, a place Marik was content to have her stay. So Marik went about his days with a growing uncertainty in his soul, a malaise that couldn’t be easily defined, nor rectified. His nights were plagued by a tortured and restless sleep, if he could sleep at all, as his mind twisted and turned with unease regarding his future.

  One night, a particularly difficult one, when the temperature was quite hot and unbearably humid, Marik tossed and turned on his palatial, canopied, king-size bed. It wasn’t his bed, actually. For all intents and purposes, the bed, as well as the rest of the furniture were owned by the Farku branch of the Waldorf-Astoria hotel chain.

  Marik had let a suite on the top floor with an excellent view of the sea, and the prized Farku beaches. Although he never went outside to enjoy the sun and surf. Having that Lightie strain in his genetics, he tended to severely sunburn. However, he did like to gaze at the vast swathes of white sand, and the gentle blue ocean which claimed the shores.

  Marik lived in the master bedroom, a room larger than entire houses in Karupatani. In the adjoining rooms, he stashed his first lieutenant, a young Squideo man called Bork, and his second lieutenant, a Mishnese girl named Phran. Their responsibilities consisted of maintaining the daily supply and delivery of their product line to their various retail outlets, as well as collecting the funds which then became due.

  In addition to lieutenants, Marik had acquired a Bagmagian-Beckwadian woman to assist with his personal needs. From drawing his bath, to reminding him to wash behind his ears, and comb his shock of bright blue hair, Leta-Reta, became an equally important part of the child's retinue. The two-headed woman was delegated to the maid's closet, a room barely bigger than her amazingly wide body, however she was perfectly content in this, having spent the last few years in a cardboard box upon the Farku streets.

  Upon arriving into this small clan, Leta-Reta disguised herself as a Rossorian, both heads of curly red hair hidden by an blue cloak, the signature garment of that odd religious order. When the great floods happened, when the Rossorians were declared enemies of the state by the Emperor, Leta-Reta removed her disguise, much to the great shock of Marik and the other members of his executive team.

  "Please don't send us back to the streets," Leta begged, while Reta wept copious tears. "We'll die out there. The Mishnese hate us dual-heads."

  "Then, you shall stay with us," Marik decided, unequivocally, pounding his proverbial gavel on
the Waldorf-Astoria’s ensuite desk.

  Indeed, Marik and his minions were an accommodating lot. They certainly weren't prone to discriminate just because one was born with two heads, or eight arms, or had skin in a variety of hues.

  Marik didn't care if one liked to worship by standing on the back of one's cow, or not worship at all, but instead, preferred to get drunk. If one's dress or food preferences were unconventional, or if their sexual habits were a bit odd considering their accoutrements, it didn't matter as long as no one else was harmed, and it didn’t cost Marik any extra money. Thus, Leta-Reta was welcomed in their fold.

  On that tempestuous night, when the thunder rumbled across the churning seas, and lightning began to crackle overhead, Marik rose in his bed, and called out to his nurse. Leta-Reta came running as quickly as her wide body would allow, having only just retired after assisting the boy in flossing his teeth.

  "What's the matter, young boss?" Leta inquired while Reta rubbed her tried eyes, and tried to force herself to stay awake. It was difficult challenge for her, as she had only just nodded off to sleep after a long, hard day of tending to Marik's needs.

  Marik wasn't certain how to answer, as he didn't exactly know what was wrong himself. As a point of fact, nothing really was very bad. He was safe and warm in his luxurious hotel bed. His belly was full from the evening's gourmet meal, and there was plenty of money in the coffers to pay for it all again tomorrow.

  Nevertheless, Leta recited her usual litany of questions, while Reta's eyes once again drifted to a close, her head falling heavily upon their shared shoulder.

  "Are you hungry? Are you cold? Does your head hurt? Does your tummy ache? Did you have a bad dream? Do you want a drink of water?"

  "No. No. No," Marik replied. "I don't want any of those things. I just want..."