Confidence & Consequence

Underland and the Forehidden Kingdom, Chapter 11

Underland and the Forehidden Kingdom is a serialised, young adult, fantasy novel about an overconfident bookworm who finds himself in a parallel world where words are weapons, ideologies form fortresses, and intelligence without integrity may just cost you everything. If you’re new here, you can start from the beginning or check out the index.

RECAP: The group sneak into Midnah-Dogu by posing as Wayfinders, rogue Torchbearers with no allegiance to any King. The Millionth and Fifth split up in order to draw less attention to themselves when Dawit rapidly falls ill. He has been “Stricken” with doubt.

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Kai, Dawit and Keon half dragged themselves through the streets like some inebriated, three-legged animal. Every corner they turned was vastly overpopulated. Escaping the crowds was proving to be impossible. They were still offering Keon food to boot, as if they were drawn to him or knew something he didn’t. No one seemed to bother the other two, though they were doubtless intrigued by the spectacle.

“Guys…‘m so sorry…” Dawit mumbled.

“What are you sorry for, bro? You’re the one who’s sick,” scoffed Keon.

“This was my first…mission as field leader…” he gulped, slowly shaking his head, “I blew it.”

“Yeah, well, we’re not done yet,” said Kai.

Finally! An empty alley.

They took the opportunity to slump against the wall and catch their breath.

“So, I’ve been meaning to ask…” said Keon.

“Do you have to?”

“Why blue?”

Kai huffed and shook his head.

“Red is, like, the universal colour for ‘danger.’ We’re trying not to draw attention.”

“You mean dragging your half-conscious friend through the streets doesn’t draw attention?”

Kai cracked a smile, which was more than he had done for the last few minutes.

Keon stared at him, pressing for more.

“Back there—you said Dawit would attract something worse. What did you mean?”

“Forget I said anything.”

“Kai…”

Dawit tugged on the hood of Kai’s shawl.

“Tell him, man,” he rasped.

Kai blew a protracted exhale from his nose, burying his chin in his chest.

“Alright…” he sighed, shuffling in the dust. “In Underland, the strongest negative thoughts and feelings are personified. Singular beings who can appear anywhere those thoughts get out of hand. We call them Mentals.”

Keon scanned him, understanding dawning.

“That’s what happened to you before.”

Kai gave a barely perceptible nod.

“When I first came here—to Underland—they said it would change my life. I figured they meant, ‘make it easier.’ What they failed to mention was that every step of the way would be a fight. Every single day, everywhere we went. So, by the time we got here, I’d started to have doubts.”

“So what? Everyone has doubts.”

Kai shook his head.

“Mine were bad. They made me reckless. Resentful. A few minutes in the walls and I started to get sick, like this idiot,” he said, gesturing towards Dawit. “That’s when he showed up. Freakishly tall. Silver hair. Eyes like a dead fish.”

If Kai thought this guy was tall, he must have been huge.

“Who was he?”

“We call him Dout. A Mental Mynd.”

Keon flapped his arms.

“Can’t we just fight ‘em like the rest?”

Kay shook his head, shivering.

“I’d rather not.”

“So, what do we do? We lit the signal and ran. How’s anyone ‘sposed to find us?”

Kai pulled a fistful of mustard seeds from the pouch at his side.

“Shem can find these things anywhere, even in the dark. That’s his gift.”

Keon frowned. Shem’s gift? What did that mean?

“Just sit tight, they’ll find us.”

“And if they don’t?”

They bolted upright, eyes skittering to find the source of the gravelly voice until their eyes fell on a lone figure swaggering out of the shadows down the alley.

“What if you’re gone when they get here?”

He was freakishly tall. Thin, but not skinny, as though he lacked even an ounce of body fat. Silver hair hung loose in immaculately straight bands that reached his knees. Despite his height, he seemed to hunch, causing his unnaturally long arms and clawed fingers to almost drag along the ground. And the eyes; like cracked pearls hammered into dark, veined granite.

“Bloody hell, that was fast,” murmured Kai.

“We meet again, Torchbearer. Only this time,” Dout’s empty stare creaked towards Dawit. “I’ve not come for you.”

The yellowing claws of his branch-like arms raked across the sides of the alley like nails on a chalkboard, dragging chunks of rock and stone from the buildings. He clamped his hands together, grinding the pieces.

Kai struggled to sling Dawit’s heavy arm across his shoulders and hoist him up.

“We need to move, now!”

“What’s he doing?”

“This ain’t National Geographic, bro! Forget about i—aaggh!”

Kai and Dawit stumbled to the ground as Kai lost his footing.

“Crap!”

He frantically yanked at his shawl. The bottom half of his right leg had swollen to more than twice the size, squeezed beneath his boots and trousers. He drew sharp, rapid breaths; clawing at his swelling foot in panic.

“Or perhaps you’ll be joining us after all,” Dout chuckled.

Keon didn’t know what to do other than stare. With each passing second the swelling grew worse. Anymore and he would pop out of his clothes. Kai clamped his eyes shut and tried to steady his breathing.

“The hell is this?! What do I do?!” said Keon.

Kai grabbed Keon by the shawl.

“You run,” he said, through gritted teeth, “Right now!”

Keon glared over his shoulder in Dout’s direction.

“Bun that. I gotta better idea.”

Kai’s grip slipped as Keon pulled away, rising to his feet. He grabbed the straps of his harness and tugged, swinging the satchel around as he strode towards Dout. Removing his Codex, Keon thumbed through the pages until he reached a page he’d earmarked. Dawit’s eyes widened in disbelief.

“He’s not seriously gonna…”

Keon stopped halfway between Dout and his companions.

“I’m not afraid of you!”

A sliver of a smile cracked across Dout’s face.

“Give it time.”

Dout rolled four pieces of dark rock onto the street. They’d been ground into coal like stones that bounced across the dust. Coming to a stop, the pieces split like hatching eggs, blackened limbs snapping and popping out of the shards. Armoured Mynds began pulling themselves from the rocks, rapidly growing as they came.

Keon gripped the page and tore it out, arms moving across each other in whips and swipes as he folded. The more he folded, the more it took shape. It was working! With a flick of the wrist, a full-blown broadsword burst out between his palms. Gripping the hilt, he twirled the blade across the back of his hand and planted both feet a shoulder width apart.

“No flippin’ way…” said Kai.

* * THEN * *

Keon was gripping the Codex between his hands when it rippled from front to back. This time he didn’t hesitate to throw it. It bounced off a tree, landed on its back and flapped open as though the winds were turning its pages. He spun on the spot, scanning the dense forest trees. Nothing. Shem’s staff was leaning against the rock, so he grabbed it.

Tip-toeing over, he prodded the book once with the staff. It didn’t move. Of course it didn’t move because that was crazy! He tossed the staff to the side, walked over and scooped it back up. Once again, he felt drawn to the back pages. He hesitated then flipped through it, stopping at the Appendix. Once again, black words were bleeding onto the centre of the page.

These lot can’t help you.

You have to help yourself.

He slammed the book shut—paused, his eyes racing through his thoughts—then opened it back up again.

The page was empty.

He drummed the spine of the book with his forefinger—thinking—then, looking around once more, he slipped the graphite pencil out of the pouch on the spine. He held it tight within his grip, biting his bottom lip, then gingerly put pencil to paper.

‘The hell do you want?’ he scrawled.

As soon as he’d finished, the letters vanished into the depths of the paper with a snap and he flinched.

Same thing you do.

Keon audibly scoffed, shaking his head, and scribbled furiously.

‘You don’t know me!’

I know what you’re thinking.

Everything you want is right there.

You might as well take it.

His eyes widened. He glanced past the edge of his Codex to Shem’s book, lying open on the stone. Open on the page he’d been staring at for the last twenty minutes.

‘Forging’

Swords, Spears & Shields

He turned back to his open Appendix.

They can’t help you.

You have to help yourself.

* * NOW * *

Keon took off in a hop-skip as the Mynds made a mad dash for him, weapons drawn. A heavy overhead strike clove the first completely in two from shoulder to waist. A swipe to the left cut the second one clean in half whilst its blade hung half raised. Rushing through the combusting ash, Keon struck the thirds left leg off beneath the knees, stabbing it in the chest as it fell.

“Bloody hell, he’s doing it,” said Kai.

“No…” Dawit croaked, “the blade…it’s wearing out too quickly.”

He was right. With each strike, the paper sword fragmented, shards of parchment flaking like sparks; and Keon was oblivious.

He rolled over the disintegrating corpse, pulled out the blade and brought it swinging down on the head of the last Mynd. Its arms went limp as it dissolved from top to bottom, dropping to its knees.

Dout cocked an eyebrow.

“You’re next,” said Keon, panting.

“Come forth, child. We’ll see if your resolve holds.”

“Keon...Don’t!” coughed Dawit.

He tried scrambling to his feet, but there was no strength left in them. Kai could only drag his heavy, swollen limb forward in a pointless attempt to crawl.

Keon raised the sword and rushed at Dout.

A deep, guttural cackle rattled the Mental’s menacing frame. Keon swung the sword, aiming for Dout’s neck. The instant seemed to stretch as the blade broke through the air—and then Dout grabbed it by the edge, crumpling it in his giant, gangly fist like a handful of dried leaves.

Keon barely had a moment to inhale his shock when all the breath was wrenched from his throat. Dout’s cold claws dug into his neck as he was hoisted headfirst into the air.

The Mental’s dead eyes swivelled to scrutinise the fragmenting blade.

“You don’t believe this at all, do you?”

If Keon could breathe, he would have choked on the blast of Dout’s hot, sulphuric breath. His grip tightened around his throat, sending a rush of dizziness cascading up his head. His eyes rolled back as consciousness bled from his body.

Suddenly, it was as if the world retreated into a single point before his face. Then a supernova of imagery burst before his eyes. His Mum telling him they would be ok. Would they really? He didn’t know. Bella stood crying at the front door to their house as it closed. Would she ever smile again? As in, really smile. He wasn’t sure. The pile of bills on the counter. The leaky tap. Gabriel Reid’s ugly mug. Then, he saw something he didn’t understand. Twin knights standing in a pillar of golden light.

“Ahhhh!...So, you’re the one that got away. To think, your father came all that way—for nothing.”

Keon’s eyes snapped open; his body somehow yanked back to consciousness by the sting of Dout’s words. With great difficulty, he craned his head to look into his empty eyes. This monster knew his dad.

“Keon!”

Relief washed over him, blanketing the pain. Shem and Avana had found them, just as Kai said they would.

“Let ‘im go!” shouted Shem.

Dout tossed him aside like a limp fish. What little wind was left in his body was pummelled out as his back hit the dust. He grasped for breath, his lungs pulling in as much air as they could hold.

Dout held up the fragmented sword and crumpled it into a ball.

“Uh oh…,” said Shem.

He grabbed his Codex, Avana her palm-leaf manuscript.

Dout threw the wad of paper and it exploded in a shower of blackened ash. Shem and Avana shielded their eyes as the fragments fluttered around them like a flock of midnight ravens. Slowly, but surely, the ash coalesced. Mynds began taking shape. Far too many of them. They were surrounded.

“Don’t lose your nerve,” said Avana.

“Never have,” replied Shem.

They drew back-to-back, the closest they’d allowed themselves to be since that night in the Narrow Strait.

Avana cracked her palm-leaf manuscript like a whip, then brought it over her head in an arch and slammed it onto the ground. As each page struck the ground in sequence, massive sheets of parchment sprang up one after the other, popping Mynds into the air like corks off a bottle.

Twisting his body, Shem swung his harness round, knocking the first Mynd with his satchel as the Codex flapped open. As he spun, he tore a page, folded it, and stretched out a long staff, whacking the next Mynd in line. Instinctively, he ducked and Avana rolled over his back, whipping her manuscript round in a wide arch. Still the Mynds pressed in, squeezing them still until a small circle of space was all that separated them from a sea of Mynds. Suddenly, something fluttered overhead. The Mynds raised their heads as one—and the sky came alive.

There was the subtlest shimmer and the heads of the Mynds exploded in a shower of soot, cascading through the group like a boulder thrown in the sea. When the ash finally settled, Shem and Avana found themselves standing amongst nine figures.

Their heads were heavily wrapped from tip to chest, covered with white hoods and single slits revealing piercing eyes. White, rectangular-patterned gambesons covered short-sleeved, crimson tunics that swished around loose trousers. Plated to their chests were books bound to silver chains that stretched across their shoulders and under their arms. Emblazoned on the covers was the same golden crest; an ancient lamp hanging from the tip of a crescent moon. Like the Torchbearer insignias, they seemed to dance and shimmer in the light.

“Moonlamps,” whispered Kai.

Keon sat up, massaging his throat.

One of them stepped forward. He was a full head shorter than the rest but walked with an authority beyond his stature. He strode past a stunned Shem and Avana, past the smouldering remains of the Mynds, to face Dout alone.

“There’s no place for you here, Shakin,” he said.

“Oh? But I was invited.”

“Not by a resident of these walls. Masabih don’t waver,” he replied, glancing in Dawit’s direction. “Leave with your head or leave without it. It’s your choice.”

Reaching for the book fastened to his chest, the Moonlamp flicked two latches on either side. The book spun loose and landed open, suspended in front of his chest by the chains. With both hands free, he deftly tore a page from each side of the book then pulled on two straps hanging from his back, snapping the book back into place. Twirling the pages, he folded them between his fingers and thumbs, then flicked his wrists, repeating the action over and over again. Each time he flicked, the pages stretched longer and longer, until they had curved into two thin scimitars.

“Last chance.”

Dout shrugged, appeared to feign leaving, then dashed for the Moonlamp. He was fast, but the Moonlamp was faster.

He seemed to flicker and vanish. The next thing anyone knew, he was sailing across the dust towards Dout, twin scimitars crossing his chest. They passed each other like ships sailing in the night—and the side of Dout’s neck ruptured between his shoulders. The proceeding impact blew his head clean off.

The head bounced off a wall and rolled to a stop behind the Moonlamp’s feet. His headless body fell, first to its knees then flat forward, disintegrating in the breeze.

“Ouch…” he croaked.

And then he vanished.

“Is he dead?!” said Keon, still half sprawled on his back, panting.

The Moonlamp tossed his scimitars to the ground and pulled back the wrap covering his head. Spikes of jet-black hair flicked out, falling across cold grey eyes set on an olive plateau. He was young! He couldn’t have been any older than Keon.

“Mynds are ideas, and ideas never really die,” he said.

He looked around at the Millionth and Fifth. Dawit sweating profusely. Kai limping on an enlarged foot, supported by Avana. Keon struggling to rise to his feet with Shem’s assistance.

“Let’s take a walk, shall we?”