Chapter 7: Devastated Fabul
The tanned, bald man sifts through the enormous amount of rubble that used to be his bedroom chambers. A bookshelf broken into numerous shards of wood, books strewn across the littered floor ('Our History' by Haris Ment; 'Days I Have Seen' by Meredith Mingleton…); an antique lamp dating back hundreds of years, costing a fortune, shattered a thousand times over; the large oak bed, with silk shades draped around the overhang, split in two by a large chunk of stone from the ceiling, the two pieces poking out at a forty-five degree angle making a 'V' formation; the body-length mirror, so clear in its reflection, now nothing more than splintered glass reflecting a hundred different images at once.
The tanned man looks to the afternoon sky—so bright, so clear (so misleading)—the north wind blowing lightly, coolly. That tremendous, gaping hole where the ceiling used to be is a sample of the sheer destruction the rest of the castle, the rest of the town has been through. The hole looks to the man like a wide-open mouth with jagged stone teeth, speaking to him of death and chaos, laughing hysterically and looking down on him (you never had a chance baldy, none of you…surprise!). The sun beams down through the ugly lips of the stone orifice with intense heat, baking the room with searing light.
"Everything's gone isn't it?" The voice enters through the broken doorway leading into the bedroom; a voice filled with depression and a bit of contempt.
"Yes," The bald man picks a painting up from a heap of rocks and debris. "All of it."
The scenic view in the painting depicts a vast meadow of yellow, red and violet flowers, some of the petals supposedly blowing in the wind. In the distance, a small mountain range can be seen with a waterfall running from it. The sun, peeking through a couple of tiny clouds, gives off a sort of silhouette look to the mountainside, its profile looking somewhat like a man's. Just below the waterfall, a white mist and tiny splashes of water can be seen above the horizon of meadows (perhaps the waterfall empties into a huge lake with clear, sparkling water with tiny fishes, and a small rainbow arching through the cool, misty air). His hand softly treads over the thin, painted material, a long rip cutting through it from one corner to another. I'd like to be there right now, he thinks. Looks like heaven.
The man turns to face his wife and says, "How does Debin's room look?"
She takes a couple steps towards him, bends down, and picks up one of the tattered books—her book—'Times of Trouble' by Breth Yeager. The subtitle reads 'Hearts of Pain'.
"It's not as bad as this, but still…" She holds back a couple of tears with a few sniffles, using her index finger to lightly massage her nose. "What do we do now Yang?" Her voice is shaky, ready to break at any moment into a burst of running water and heartbreaking sobs. She covers her mouth with one hand to stifle her cries, dropping the book in the process; its back cover breaking off as it hits the floor.
Yang walks over to his wife and wraps his arms around her shoulders, her face pressing softly against the skin of his bare chest, her deep purple hair caressing his cheeks.
"We can rebuild this Dresia, I promise you that. At least we're still alive. That's more than what many of the others can say."
--Over two hundred others actually.
During the Great Festival of the Minorus—a celebration of the birth of the first king of Fabul—the attack occurred. An enormous swarm of flying beasts came, riding on a wave of black clouds that enveloped the clear, blue sky that had graced Fabul on its day of festivities. It was the quickest strike by any enemy Yang had ever seen. Their speed was incredible; their cries were terrifying. Within minutes, the entire province was bathed in a rolling firewall that forced its way through the town, wiping out everything in its path. The cause—a fleet of sixteen red dragons lined up in formation about a hundred yards in the sky. Their movements were in sync. The timing of their attack was perfect. Side by side, the dragons spewed out a stream of flames that, when hitting the ground below, combined to form a tidal wave of fire. Many of the townspeople were engulfed instantly by the hellish burn of the fires that swept across the land, like that of a brutal storm. Their screams were deafening, their pains were heart wrenching. As the dragons split up to continue their rampage, a ground attack began with an army of imps and beasts of all natures. Houses exploded, airships were ripped to shreds; the annual carnival that had brought joy to hundreds, young and old, was turned into a bloodbath of chaos. A few of the airships tried to make an escape, but most were caught within the crossfire of flames.
Yang was looking upon the festival from the castle when the attack occurred. As the king's military advisor and head of the army's main division, Yang led his men on to battle. With little battle experience, both physically and emotionally, the army fell quickly to the enemy horde. Young men who were anxious to get their first taste of war never lived to see their next; their blood battered bodies scattered across the plains, across the town; their weapons, unused and clean accept for a few red stains from their owners bodies, lying useless on the ground.
Useless, hopeless—chaos.
Yang tried his best to get a hold on the situation, but everything was moving at such a rapid pace, flying fast with blinding speed, that nothing could be done to stop the madness. The only thing he could do was to have one of his airships take flight towards Baron to warn them. Help from them would be of little consequence with the speedy destruction going on around him. Fortunately that airship would make it through the onslaught, though it looked to be badly damaged.
Evacuation procedures for the town were implemented, but that really didn't matter. By the time the worst was over, three quarters of the population were massacred. The town was painted red, and the streets were decorated with the bodies of women, and small children wearing paper festival hats draped in blood.
The attack took approximately fifteen minutes, and as quickly as the enemy attack came, they left, taking with them the black clouds that shadowed the area; and leaving the now blue sky to look with horror at what it had missed, at what it was blinded from. A horrendous cackle could be heard echoing throughout the land, along with one terrifying word—chaos. Chaos was what this was, what this town and nation had been through. Chaos is what took the lives of those in the streets whose bodies now bathe in the warmth of the sun.
After the attack, the king of Fabul—Folster Beine—ordered that whoever was left alive was to gather whatever personal belongings needed, and head off to the fallback area known as Cardigan—a small unpopulated village at the base of the northern mountains. Considering the amount of casualties suffered, Cardigan would be big enough to house those that have survived.
"Gather what you need, just the bare essentials," Yang tells his wife. "I'll go check on Debin." Yang leaves Dresia to pack and heads out the door and across the hall to see his sixteen-year-old son.
As he walks through the disheveled doorway of Debin's bedroom, Yang sees his only child huddled in the corner, knees against his chest, arms wrapped around his legs, and head down in sorrowed thought. Yang slowly walks towards Debin, taking a few casual looks about the room in the process—broken toys, scattered books, bricks and stone everywhere. At least the ceiling's intact, Yang thinks. Yang bends down behind his son and puts a hand on Debin's shoulder.
Debin is a very well mannered teen—very disciplined and extremely studious. The discipline is learned from his father, who has been training his son in the world of martial arts, while his studious nature is from his mother's side, always reading books and learning new things. Lately, with his hormones kicking into high gear, Debin has started to experiment with being a teenager. Beginning to show the masculine features of his father, the handsome young boy likes to flirt with the young maidens of the town; breaking a few hearts in the process. It was a small sense of power for him, to be able to manipulate women's emotions the way he did, but in the end the discipline which he's been brought up with would take over, and he would make amends with those that he's hurt.
Yet despite his recent entanglements with women, he still manages to attract them wherever he goes, basking in compliments and flirtations. If he were a prince, things would be even worse, Yang would always think; and a prince he could have been.
Yang was another player in the Zeromus War, brought together with Cecil during one of his training trips up the trails of Mount Hobs to the northwest. Yang was the current Prince of Fabul at the time, though that title was completely lost on him—he never really cared for it. He befriended Cecil and his entourage and accompanied them through their quest to save the world from tyranny. Yang's martial arts expertise was of great significance, and he helped to make a difference during the war. Yang and Dresia didn't know it, but while Yang was off to save the world, Dresia was pregnant with their first child. Debin was born about eight months later.
After peace had settled throughout the world, Yang's father—the king—had fallen gravely ill with a disease known as pherdinchidus. It attacks the immune system and renders a person's limbs virtually useless, killing the senses, and eventually stopping the synapses in the brain from communicating, leaving that person to live the rest of his/her life as a vegetable.
Various spells and potions were used to try and slow down the process, but a year later, Yang's father lost his battle with the incurable disease. The entire nation grieved for their loss, and they sent their king off with a heartfelt funeral that everyone attended. In complete distraught over the death of his father, Yang secluded himself within the castle walls, spending his time with old memories of Fabul's late king and contemplating his future.
A few weeks later, the nation was looking to crown the new King of Fabul—Yang. He had other ideas though. Yang never felt comfortable with the royalty status that he inherited, and found it more appealing to serve with the military instead. Therefore, he handed the crown down to his father's most trusted advisor, Sir Folster Beine.
Sir Folster, originally from Baron, served in Fabul's military for fifteen years, starting at the age of twenty. After moving up the ranks and being decorated with Fabul's highest honor—The Triple Star—Folster was first knighted, and then appointed to the king's council as his military advisor. While in that position, Folster garnered much praise and high acclaim, increasing his appeal to the people of the town, and also to the fellow members of the council. During this time, Folster married his long time girlfriend, Saliana Westbrook—a young woman he met while shopping in the local clothing store. Two years later, the Zeromus War would begin, and Folster would take control of the situation, helping Fabul to survive the ordeal.
Yang's offering of the crown came as a complete shock to Sir Folster, though he was well aware of Yang's distaste for his royal position.
"This kingdom will do better with you as its head," Yang said to Folster one day. "If you allow me to take your place as military advisor, I shall give you the crown of Fabul."
The offer was something he could hardly pass up. Folster had so much he wanted for Fabul and its people, and he saw the opportunity to do all those things. The townspeople didn't seem to mind as Folster's popularity was greatly known and heralded. After the past seventeen years, Yang has not felt one tinge of regret for what he did. I did it for the good of the nation, he would keep telling himself, and for the greater good of my family. Now is when his family needs him most.
"You alright Deb?"
"I guess so." The young boy's voice is barely audible.
Yang picks up a broken toy soldier from the littered ground. It holds aloft a flag that's painted over with the white and crimson colors of Fabul's Royal Banner, probably by Debin. The green little man was missing its left leg and right foot—another casualty of war. In a way, the toy soldier looked a little more heroic to Yang, that even with such crippling injuries the soldier still has the strength and pride to lift his countries flag high in the air, to unite his country and spite his enemies. (We will not fall! We are one!)
"We'll be alright son. We will rebuild. And everything that you've lost today will be given back to you, I promise."
"Actually dad, I'd give it all up just to have everything back to normal again."
Yang smiles and wraps his arms around his son.
"I'm so proud of you for your strength, courage, and understanding. I know you'll grow up to be a great man, and I'm so happy to be able to call you my son."
"Gee dad, you don't have to get all mushy and stuff. That's for mom to do."
"No son, that goes for everyone, including fathers." Yang gives Debin a kiss, and then rubs his knuckles into his son's head.
"Hey, knock it off dad." The two share a hearty laugh.
"Ok, let's start packing up some things for our trip to Cardigan." Yang picks Debin up off the ground and the father and son duo begin their packing.
Interlude
"What do you think about this?" Porom holds a silk, cream-colored blouse against her chest, spreading it out for Gerald to assess his opinion.
"That's a great color for you Porom," Gerald takes a bite out of a bread stick that was leftover from their breakfast at the Great Garrison Restaurant. "How about this?" Gerald grabs a large straw hat from a stand and puts it on Porom's head. The pointy hat slips down her head and covers her eyes, the floppy brim sagging around her ears. Gerald laughs out loud.
"That's not funny you know." Porom says in a not so serious way.
Porom takes the hat off preparing to slap Gerald with it, but instead her eyes are greeted to the sight of a half a dozen red roses; their bulbs have yet to bloom. Her eyes widen in surprise as she observes the beautiful flowers held before her, with their soft petals and drops of dew. She looks to Gerald whose face is lit with a sly grin.
"What's this?" She asks.
"Well, most people call them flowers. I've heard of other terms like 'make-up roses'…I don't think it qualifies in this case, but you can call them whatever you want."
"That's not what I meant silly," Porom takes the roses from Gerald's hand and smells their sweet aroma. "What are they for?"
"They're just pretty roses for a pretty lady," Gerald finishes off the last of his bread stick then dusts his hands off. "I saw them, and I just thought you'd look good holding them."
Porom blushes a bright red, almost as red as the roses in her hands, then eyes him questionably.
"Where'd you get these from? I didn't see you holding them all this time."
"Now, now. If I told you how I did it, I won't be able to do it again."
Porom's brown eyes begin to water just slightly.
"You're welcome to do it anytime you like."
They both share a warm smile, and exit Miss Wilhemma's Fashion Center. As they continue down Mysidia's main quarters, Porom wraps an arm around one of Gerald's and leans up against him. She can feel the intense beats of her fragile heart, wondering if it would burst if Gerald decided to shy away from her advances, which in its own right, took a lot of confidence to perform considering that she hasn't had much confidence in herself for many years now. But Gerald doesn't seem to mind. As a matter of fact, he puts his free hand over her arm and holds it securely to his. He continues to talk about things like the stars and planet alignments, but it doesn't matter to Porom what he was talking about. Because right now she was enraptured and enveloped in her own world of bliss and new found joy; at this very moment, everything is right in her life—every part of her being, every essence of her soul, every growing heartbeat…
…at this very moment.
Palom walks along Portege Avenue, heading home after a morning meal with Lyrca and her family to celebrate their recent engagement. The unending hugs and kisses from Lyrca's mother and the excruciatingly painful handshakes from her father were almost unbearable. Lyrca's little siblings, six in all, made a ring around Palom and danced around him until he was dizzy and continued long after he was annoyed.
"I hope Lyrca's not looking forward to having any of those anytime soon," Palom rubs the palm of his right hand with his left, aching from her father's ogre-like grip. "The man has calluses that could sandpaper an entire tree."
A group of school children run past Palom, backpacks bouncing up and about on their backs like a man on a rampaging horse.
"Those kids could have just said congratulations and went on their merry way. They didn't have to form a ring around me and…" A sudden realization occurs to him. "A ring. I have to find her a wedding ring. Great."
Palom walks through the gates leading to the Hall of Enlightenment, and to the cottage that he and Porom share. He stops to look up at the sky, perhaps looking to some higher power, wondering what his life is going to be like after he and Lyrca are married. Those thoughts never crossed his mind before…ever.
Marriage was never a subject Palom wanted to get into, citing that getting into a girl's pants was a more interesting topic to discuss. Of course this information would only be shared by a group of guys who frequented the local tavern with Palom often. It comes as no surprise that not a single one of them have had sex before, but no one needed to know that. From their outdoor seating, Palom and his friends would grade each woman that passed by, sometimes whistling their approval. The only thing it got them was some stern side-glances, and the occasional slap to the cheek. A woman even came up to one of Palom's buddies and socked him clean up the jaw, sending one of his teeth flying through the air. There were no hard feelings between the two, though Palom's friend couldn't feel his jaw at all for a while. He said "it was an honor to feel the skin of one so beautiful 'caressing' his own."
Ah the stories, Palom thinks to himself. Does that mean when I get married, all that's going to change?
(Of course it does! Do you really think she's going to let you go gallivanting about with your friends while she stays at home cooking, and cleaning, and looking after your three or four children, and tending the garden, and doing the shopping, all the while waiting for you to come home late at night for some sweet loving, and instead you fall fast asleep once your head hits the pillow 'cause you're drunk? Are you insane? Wake up boy!)
"Whoa Palom," he says to himself. "This is why you don't think about marriage. Just calm down. You just need to do something to take your mind off of this."
Palom walks through the door of the Hall of Enlightenment and is greeted by three of the Elder's priests. The looks on their faces couldn't have been graver. Palom just stares at them for what seems like ages; the hall is deeply silent. After a few more tense moments of silence, Palom opens his mouth to speak.
"What's up?"
End of Interlude"There aren't any airships left, so we're going to have to hike to Cardigan," Yang addresses about twenty-five townspeople, including his wife and son, about their situation. "The Royal Family and their entourage have already left for the village, along with sixty other townsfolk. So we're the last to leave what was once our home," Yang looks over the surrounding areas, and if he had seen what Baron looks like now, he would have said Fabul looked just like it, or even worse. "I want everyone to take a good look around."
Hesitantly, everyone surveys their distraught homeland—broken buildings, battered airships—and among the chaotic scene are two large, wooden crosses. Buried beneath them are the bodies of the dead, carefully laid side by side in a mass burial. This grave was the first order of business acknowledged by King Folster. There was to be no cleaning up of anything. Fabul was listed as a disaster area and a lost cause. Therefore, the dead were to be taken care of immediately, with the names of everyone who lost their lives to the horrible devastation that swept through their kingdom, carved into the two crosses.
(we will not fall!)
The townspeople look on with teary eyes and sunburned skin; their hands clutching onto bags and satchels and packs, filled with whatever belongings they could fit into them.
(we are one!)
"Take a good look," Yang continues his speech. "Because this evil that has taken away everything we hold dear, destroyed many whom we've come to love and cherish, it cannot steal our hearts, our hope, our resolve. Yes, we will all grieve. (we will not fall!) But to grieve is to find strength. For where there's strength within our hearts, within our spirit, there's also hope. And from hope do we build a village; a village to a town; a town to an empire, (we are one!) like our ancestors before us once did. They built this kingdom with their bare hands from the ground up. I guess in a sense, this was never truly our kingdom. Now it's time for us to build a kingdom that we can call our very own—a stronger kingdom, a better world. Make no mistake about it my friends. This is the saddest and most devastating event to ever occur within our hollowed walls, but we will be better for it. 'We' is the word. (We will not fall! We are one!) For we have walked away from this horror, we will rebuild our lives, we will create our kingdom anew, and we will laugh at this enemy, this evil that thought it their business to crush our mighty empire! And we will fight back; for our spirit, for our children, and for Fabul!"
The cheer from this congregation of townspeople is like the mighty roar of a hundred. With fists raised in the air in defiance to the carnage surrounding them, the small crowd lets out an enormous battle cry, with Yang looking on with intense eyes and an even stronger will than he has ever felt before in his life.