Chapter
13
The ocean waters made beautiful music as a giant orange sun lit one of Terroth’s majestic eastern beaches. Red crabs scuttled across the white sands of the shore as the tide gently rolled in, bringing with it a humanoid, golden feathered, 3 foot tall, bird boy. He had drifted in by the waters’ good graces, and his lungs were half-filled with saltwater. If he survived, it was a miracle.
The day was half over, and a band of brigands was having a meeting in a shack near the beach. One of them had a black hieroglyph tattooed across the left side of his face, his ears were pierced, his head was bald, and he smoked a big cigar. He was a large man, and sat at the head of an old, beat up table in the shack, as he leaned back in his wooden chair, his right boot pressed up against the table as his mouth puffed out smoke. There were two others. One of them was dressed in rags, his hair was filthy (as was his face), his teeth were yellow, and he fiddled with what appeared to be his favorite dagger. The other ruffian was of a moderately civilized stature. He blonde hair was pulled back into a ponytail and tied with a ribbon; he wore a high-class costume with frills and buttons everywhere. He counted gold pieces out of a small, white pouch as he chuckled to himself. The big one leaned his chair back up and slammed a hairy fist on the table, sending a few gold coins flying. “What you laughin’ about Dobbs?” he asked bluntly.
“Well sir,” the gentlemen counting the money answered, “It’s not so much that I’m laughing, as it is that I’m happy, you see. We managed to get away from that place, without so much as a scratch, with 300 gold pieces. It feels good…That’s why I’m ‘laughing’ sir.” The big man leaned back in his chair again, removed his cigar from his mouth, and eyeballed the dirty one.
“You did good today, Gatz…real good. I’m surprised we ain’t rottin’ in prison yet, what with how you stabbed that old bat ‘an all,” the large fellow said as he put his cigar back into his mouth and took a puff.
“T’wasn’t nothin’ Howly. I only done what I had ta. Ya see, nothin’ gets on me nerves like an old woman….Absolutely nothin’” Gatz licked his trusty dagger and smiled a foul smile. “Plus…I liked the way she tasted. No blood so thick as that of the elderly. That’s my thoughts on that.” Howly blew smoke from his mouth and grimaced at Gatz’s remark.
“In any case fellas, I think it’s high time we cele…” Howly was interrupted by a loud knock on the door. “Hold on a second boys,” he whispered to his flunkies, “I thinks we got trouble here.” He stood up quietly, took his cigar from his mouth, and gently placed one large hand on the doorknob. He turned it slowly as the other two scrambled to prepare themselves for anything. “Who’s that then?” Howly yelled as he flung open the door, making the most obscene face. No one was there. “Strange…no one ‘ere.” Suddenly, a feather, yellow fist began knocking on his stomach. He gasped with horror. He had never seen anything like it before. “Holy shit, boys. Would you look at that?” he asked his companions. Within seconds, Gatz and Dobbs ran from a corner, and peaked over Howly’s shoulder. Before them stood Marlo, Klikeno warrior.
Marlo was drenched, his feathers were ruffled wildly, and his eyes were half shut. He continued to knock on Howly’s gut until the big buffoon grabbed his hand and continued studying him. “Well just what in hell is it, then?” Gatz inquired, staring at the razor sword strapped to Marlo’s back.
“A boy? A…costume, maybe?” Dobbs offered as an answer to Gatz’s question. Howly, with Marlo’s hand in hand, lifted the Klikeno into the air and looked him right in the eyes.
“Fellas…this ain’t no bird. I think I heard ‘a one ‘a these. It starts with a ‘k’ or somethin’,” Howly said, knowledgably. Marlo began mumbling.
“Darq…wa..be..g-g-g.” Marlo said unintelligibly. The three thugs gasped in horror. Gatz fell flat on his back.
“Gods, men…it can talk. You all heard it. It said dark, or something or other,” Dobbs said as he snatched the Klikeno away from Howly, cradling it in his arms, but not before Howly snatched the sword from Marlo’s back. “If it can talk, then I wonder…What else can this miraculous thing do?” Within a few seconds a loud squawk escaped Marlo’s beak as he scrambled to escape Dobbs grip. “It’s moving! Get it off!” Dobbs shouted. Marlo’s arms and legs flailed about. His palm claws began penetrating Dobbs skin beneath his clothing, making him bleed profusely. The finely dressed thief screeched in horror at the sight of his own blood as he desperately tried to throw Marlo to the ground. Marlo was finally able to jump free from Dobbs’ grip and landed on the ground, face to face with Howly’s knees. Dobbs crawled away to a corner, where he tried to nurse his wounds.
“Just what you think you doin’ boy?” Howly yelled as he held Marlo’s sword in his left hand, gripping it as if it were his own. The bird shivered.
“I don’t know you, that’s not your sword,” Marlo yelled as he leaped towards Howly’s face and raked it with his palm claws. Howly screamed as he dropped the giant razor sword, grabbed Marlo’s sides, and tried to tear Marlo away from his face.
“Shit, shit! Get off ‘a me you little freak!” Howly yelled as he began bleeding from his face. Dobbs hopped over the table, and grabbed Marlo’s tail feathers, in an effort to get him off of Howly. Instead of getting him off, he pulled one of Marlo’s feathers out. A sound so grotesque came out of Marlo’s beak, that Howly and Dobbs put their hands to their ears, and fell to the dusty ground. Marlo then srambled for his sword, picked it up, and saw Gatz, holding a knife, waiting for him at the door.
“You ain’t goin’ nowhere birdy love. Not until I have me a taste of your blood. I wonder…do you taste like duck?” Marlo lifted his sword into battle position, and set his feet apart, awaiting Gatz’s attack. The filthy bandit leaped towards him, dagger in stab mode. The Klikeno closed his eyes, reared his blade back, and swung at Gatz swiftly. Blood spurted forth from a horizontal wound cutting across Gatz’s torso. His eyes nearly protruded from his head as he coughed up blood, and held his hands to his gaping gash. Marlo looked around, frightened and unaware of where he was. He needed to find a way to make himself feel comfortable in his surroundings. He wanted something to make him fit in among what dangers may lie ahead. He studied Howly, the leader, who lay passed out due to the blood loss from his head. Dobbs faked unconsciousness to remain safe. Marlo had an idea. He leaned down, and snatched the cigar from Howly’s mouth, placing it in his beak. “If that big guy was the one in charge, and he had this in his mouth….maybe that’s what made him the leader. If this means he’s big and bad…then I should have one too.” He nodded his head as he inhaled the smoke, and puffed it back out.
Marlo left the shack immediately. It was nearly dark now, and he had no idea where we was. Lost and alone, he scoured the beach for any sign of life, or civilization. The dark and lonely waters of the night rolled in with the tide. It was all that he could hear, aside from the water swishing around in his head. Marlo looked ahead, and found a pier. Near the pier was a small trail that supposedly led out of the beach. It was his only option, so he took it without hesitation.
Marlo walked steadily along a small dusty path just west of the pier, with the cigar still in his mouth. One of Mooshnai’s moons was full, and it illuminated a nearby tree, perfect for camping. He knew he was going to be unprotected while he slept, but he figured that if someone saw his cigar, they would be frightened. So Marlo stumbled over to the tree, exhausted from being sea-tossed and nearly killed, and proceeded to sit down, leaning against the tree. He shut his eyes slowly and drifted to sleep, while the gentle winds coming from the Eastern sea soothed him.
It was morning. Marlo opened his eyes to see a vast forest canopy looming above him. He was lying on a dirt path in a forest somewhere. Where that was, he was unsure. He began to panic inside his head, he couldn’t move. He was bound with twine rope and he couldn’t break free. Not only this, but his beak had been gagged with a large white cloth. As he struggled, he made noise, and as he made noise, the pitter-patter of small footsteps was heard behind him. “What could possibly make that noise?” Marlo thought to himself. He began to struggle even more now, desperate to break free of his bindings. Suddenly, something jumped onto his yellow-feathered chest, what appeared to be a sort of gnome. It was not but five inches tall, and was decked to the hilt in acorn-plated armor. His cheeks were incredibly chubby, his microscopic muscles were bowed up, and his face was as dirty as the forest floor Marlo was laying on. In his right hand he carried a miniature pike. He pointed it at Marlo’s beak as he studied the young Klikeno with his beady little gnome eyes. They moved quickly, and within an instant, the gnome speared Marlo’s cloth gag, and pulled it out of his beak.
“Speak, creature!” the gnome commanded as he continued to point his spear at the bird boy. Marlo didn’t quite know what to do, and so he did as he was told.
“I am Marlo,” he said as quickly as he could, “What’s your name?”
“You ask no questions," the gnome replied in kind, "Not here." He replaced the gag, hopped off of Marlo’s chest, landed on the ground, and ran away. In five minutes, he returned with a crew of ten gnomes, nearly identical to him in every way. Minor differences included hair color and types of offensive odor. They positioned themselves in all angles around Marlo’s body, and began to lift him with all their might. When he was over their heads, the lead gnome called out a command. “To the enlightened one,” he said. The gnome legionnaires began a forward march and carried the young Klikeno down a dirt-covered forest path. The path was too small to even be noticed by a human traveler, but it was just the right size for a gnome trying to find his way. Marlo closed his eyes as the miniature troopers carried him through the forest. The morning air was cold and he could already tell that it wasn’t going to be a good day.
“Halt!” the lead gnome commanded. They had apparently arrived at their appointed destination. Marlo opened his eyes once more. There was no forest canopy then. The surrounding walls looked like bark, and the new location smelled like pine. “Put him down,” the top gnome called out. Marlo was set down onto a comfortable carpet.
“Where am I?” he thought as he looked around. It was nothing like he had ever seen before. The bark walls were high, and stairs, openings, and balconies hugged them. Hundreds of gnomes scurried about the place. Some carried pots, others weapons. They were carrying out their daily chores in this miniature fortress.
“I know what you’re thinking,” a voice said from out of nowhere, “and it’s a tree. You’re inside of a tree, friend.” Marlo looked around once more and confirmed the statement, though technically he had never been inside of a tree. “It’s where we live,” the voice said as it approached from around a tiny corner directly in front of Marlo. “Nature has afforded us this luxury, and because of that…We serve nature, and all of its whims.” Marlo was definitely confused, and cocked his head to the side. A bald-headed gnome, wearing ornate white robes and carrying a staff, rounded the corner. He walked up three tiny steps and stood behind a long miniature table. “Many years ago, I was like them,” he said, “Still of their warring ways…But now, I’m so much more, you see. Nature had called out to me. It had given me a calling. I shed my armor, threw down my spear, and became what I am today…A prophet.” The gnome seated himself in a tiny chair, nothing too special, and began writing with a pen inside a thick book. “I suppose your questions remain unanswered still, bird. Why are you here? I’ll elaborate. My name is Hooktu, and as the prophet of this small, in both size and number, nation, I see things…Things that are of a nature of the future. Everyday, I walk to a small pool outside of these halls. Its waters are clear, perverted not by man or beast’s touch. Nature preserves it for me, so that unto me may be divulged its secrets. Recently, I had foreseen your coming into this area.” Marlo’s eyes grew bright. How could anyone see something like that? No one had ever told tales of this sort of thing in the Yellow forest, so the tiny bald sage must be telling the truth. “Our men were a way off,” the prophet continued, “ but what I had seen was of the utmost importance, and I felt it necessary to warn you. Now…heed these words.” The gnome wiseman ceased writing and shut the book he was writing in. He stood up and lowered his head as he spoke quietly. Business throughout the tree fortress came to a halt. “Marlo, son of the dark one. Yield not to the powers that shall tempt you. Upbraideth not your goodly nature. Should you choose to follow your past, should you choose to uncover your true origin…beware. Do not succumb to what may seem too good to be true, for it is just that. Instead, conquer what is false.”
Later, the gnomes released Marlo from his bindings. They fed him and regaled him with stories of wars long past, such as the Battle of Blyte’s Burrow. Marlo enjoyed the company of his kidnappers that night and studied hard on the words of their elder. Most importantly he thought, “Who is the dark one? I don’t like that name.” He left the next morning with a full belly and a full conscience.