Fantastica: The Journey

Fantastica

The Journey

By Sebastian H. Alive

Published by Sebastian H. Alive

License Notes

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This eBook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Copyright 2016 Sebastian H. Alive

Prologue

Once upon a time in a land far, far away there lived a good and honest king who was well loved by his people for he was a virtuous monarch and had a noble heart. He ruled in splendor over the land of Fantastica, which was a beautiful and peaceful realm, full of magic, wonderment and joy.

The coffers were overflowing with bullion of gold and the land was one of prosperity and peace under the rule of King Waldor. The Queen had died long ago, but she had left him a daughter of unparalleled grace and beauty, so much so that they had named her Glorious, for she was lovely to look at.

For many years peace and security was established but just as the king’s generosity attracted the blessings of his people, greed attracted the ire of others and danger lurked in even the most happy of places.

Fantastica was a land strong in magic. White magic utilized only for good or unselfish purposes but it was also a place of black magic used for dark needs and nefarious gains.

At the furthest reaches of the land, where the forests were chokingly thick and dark there lived a sorcerer of great power. His name was Mephasto and he looked upon the king with bitter eyes of jealousy and an evil heart.

King Waldor was now very old and health fears surrounded the chief authority in Fantastica. As he had sired no son as a successor, the throne went to the man who married the Heiress Princess.

Princess Glorious had grown old enough to receive suitors and be wed so there was much excitement in the realm. Such was her outstanding beauty that she would draw the attentions of young and eligible men from far and distant in search of her hand.

The sorcerer, Mephasto, had eyes and ears everywhere in the Kingdom and heard of this. Consumed with anger he made a vow that the princess would never know married love and that the king would become a man of great suffering. Using his powerful knowledge of black magic he conjured a terrible curse upon Glorious and she fell into a deep, unresponsive sleep.

Neither alive nor dead the princess lay in a stasis of non-existence to never marry, her once flawless soft skin transformed into Quartzite sandstone. It was whispered on the lips of many that if you looked closely at her under the light of a candle it’s like she had a million stars captured within her face and so she was named the Stone princess.

The heart of the king was shattered into a thousand pieces and he wept day and night. As did the people for they loved their princess like no other and a great time of mourning fell over Fantastica.

King Waldor summoned his own magicians, enchanters and sorcerers but they could not break the power of the curse cast upon his daughter. Only the death of Mephasto would free the princess from the dark evil that had been invoked on her.

So they cast a single spell and sent tendrils of trace magic spreading throughout the realm. It searched high and low, near and far, however they could not locate the sorcerer and with each passing day the king’s health deteriorated even more. All the while the princess lay motionless, stretched out in her bronze bed under the evil of Mephasto awaiting her release while servants kept long vigils by her side.

But they maintained the search spell and just as hope had all but gone it discovered him at the outer limits of Fantastica.

The Forest of Absence was a dangerous place, old and veiled in black magic. Even the saplings and underbrush themselves were soaked in evil. It had always been a place of mystery in the kingdom and the king had closed the forest off many years ago, allowing no one to enter as those that had never came back. White Magic could not penetrate its depths so corrupted by dark sinister forces, its purity diluted and pushed back by the evil that resided within.

So King Waldor sent the kingdoms mightiest warriors, men of valor and pure of heart on a long and perilous journey to the Forest of Absence to kill the sorcerer. None returned.

With his resources depleted and knowing that the continuation of the royal bloodline would end with his death, the king issued a decree to all the noble houses at all the four corners of the land. Any house that put forward a champion who broke the curse and put the evil sorcerer to death would win his favor. Their reward would be immeasurable and King Waldor would not only grant half his great kingdom but also give his daughter in marriage to the champion who freed Glorious from the spell that bound her.

Since he was considered the wealthiest of kings many great warriors of noble birth answered his official order. None returned from the Forest of Absence.

As days passed into weeks and the weeks into months the champions that answered his call grew less and less frequent until they faded away into nothing, yet still the king lived in hope despite his ailing health.

Then on one special day someone did answer his call. It would all start with a prince…

Chapter One

Young Prince Jericho tugged back on the reins of his chestnut gelding and cantered to a halt on the brow of the hill overlooking the palace of King Waldor. He dismounted smoothly from his horse and stood with his hands clasped behind his back, his red cloak trimmed with ermine hanging off one shoulder as his piercing blue eyes flickered over the grandiose building that was the envy of many.

Such a splendid residence. he said to himself, nodding his head in appreciation.

The main path to the royal palace was paved with gold bricks, flanked by lavishly painted statues, bright, gaudy and encrusted with exotic jewels that glittered and shone against the mid-morning summer sun. About fifty yards from the main entrance stood a huge statue of the king made of the finest white marble bearing no natural stains, a focal point highlighting the wealth of the realm of Fantastica in a manifestation of glory and power.

To the left of the palace was a most magnificent walled garden, the largest in the whole of the realm where the king hosted garden parties in the summer, official celebrations and audiences with foreign dignitaries. Grand bedding displays filled with a breath-taking array of vibrant seasonal flowers in glorious colors and fabulous scents filled the meticulously landscaped garden.

Over to the right of the palace was the royal mews, a combined stables and carriage house. Home to the royal collection of carriages, including a luxurious eight-horse drawn carriage, richly gilded in gold and sumptuously decorated for sheer opulence which was used to transport the king. The huge vaulted stables, capable of receiving five hundred horses, held King Waldor’s best mounts, bred from the finest stallions from his royal breeding farms.

The palace building itself was of extraordinary scale and beauty, long considered to be one of the wonders of modern architecture for its physical structure. High castellated walls ten feet thick surrounded the immense complex, with tall guard towers at each corner ostentatiously detailed and gold-lacquered. Through the massive gates overlaid with bronze and decorated with precious gemstones was the inner courtyard. Inside was an assortment of buildings for those in the employ of the king, with the servant’s quarters at the outer perimeter, followed by the maids, cooks, soldiers, chosen advisors, personal attendants and finally the king’s guard nearest to his sole private domain.

In the center of the courtyard was King Waldor’s solar tower, his primary residence. A grand building splendidly crafted from large blocks of marble and which contained hundreds of rooms and chambers. It was topped by a spectacular towering spire stretching high into the sky that was visible in all but the worst of weather conditions.

Prince Jericho sniffed loudly and nodded his head once again.

Yes, this will certainly do indeed. he said flicking his golden hair behind his neck over his broad shoulders.

For a few moments he remained silent and jutted out his chin with his head held regally high in a theatrical pose.

He was tall and handsome, with well-muscled arms, a narrow waist and long legs. His wavy shoulder length gold hair was perfumed with scented oils and glistened with the sun along with his shining breastplate armor emblazoned with the royal crest of House Albert.

With a smug grin spreading over his face he imagined his audience with the King.

‘It is I. Prince Jericho from the House of Albert,’ he would say, with a long pause for dramatic artistry. ‘I have travelled for many months by land and sea to defeat the evil sorcerer and save your beloved daughter Princess Glorious.’

He shivered with delight at the thought of being the wealthiest and most ridiculously handsome prince in the whole of Fantastica.

I do hope you are as pretty as they say. mumbled Prince Jericho, his face riddled with gentle concern.

Humming merrily to himself he turned to his brown horse, delved into his saddlebag and retrieved a small silver hand-held mirror. Emptying his mind of his mission Prince Jericho gazed at his reflection in deep concentration. And realized how handsome he still was. With his straight white teeth, square, strong jaw and dazzling smile accompanied with twin dimples that had melted the hearts of many a courtesan.

She will just adore my lovelocks. murmured Prince Jericho adjusting his hair for a few long moments.

Then a look of total fear overcame him and he paused with the mirror trembling in his hand, filled with sudden doubt and discouragement.

What if the princess cannot curl my gorgeous locks with hot irons? he gasped. They could fall flat the moment I walk out of the palace. It must have a certain level of looseness and bounciness.

After a few minutes of deep deliberation Prince Jericho reached an important decision.

I will teach her, he said adamantly. I’ll start with the basics of damaged and split ends because thick blunt ends just won’t hold a curl.

Nodding his head he glanced up momentarily at the palace then quickly averted his eyes to resume staring at his reflection.

It is a service I will do for you my princess and one that you could never repay.

With one final, careful flick of his wrist through his hair he placed the mirror back in the saddlebag and as a final touch pulled out a small vial of perfume. Uncorking it Prince Jericho dabbed some on the sides of his neck and lifted his nostrils, inhaling the scent.

I cannot deny it, I have never smelt anything so deliriously appetizing. he exclaimed with a wide smile.

Packing the perfume back into his bag he mounted his horse in one smooth movement, and then thrust back his shoulders as he grasped the reins.

Your prince is here to free you from your curse! he cried.

Prince Jericho was just about to flick the reins and make his way down the hill towards the palace when suddenly something hard hit him on the back of the head. He let out a deep groan and his eyes crossed over as he fell facedown from the horse, hitting the ground with a dull thud.

From behind the chestnut gelding stepped a man carrying a large wooden club resting casually over one shoulder. He was tall and slim with a closely cropped black trident beard, a pock-marked shallow face with narrow cheek bones and a mocking half-smile playing about his lips. His long dark hair was tied at the nape of his neck with a piece of twine and he was dressed in a threadbare, faded brown tunic belted at the waist, a filthy pair of breeches and a pair of battered thin-soled moccasins.

The horse looked his way and stomped the ground impatiently and the man offered an apologetic shrug, but it was nothing more than a silent, guilty admission. Stepping forward he nudged the body of the prince with the tip of his soft leather shoes, his green eyes greedily scanning his lavish clothing and expensive armor.

Let me introduce myself, said the man in a cheerful voice, giving an elaborate bow. My name is Laveranues Le Fay. I am the legendary king of robbers, lord of all vagabonds and scourge of the wealthy. Famous by birth and feared for my wickedness for there's no one more dastardly evil than me in the whole of Fantastica. These are my lands; therefore what travels on my lands is also my property. I offer no princely favors for a wandering popinjay as I have a reputation to uphold which is feared throughout the land.

Looking down at the still body of the prince, Laveranues ran his fingers through his long dark hair and sighed.

Clearly not impressed by my résumé, he mumbled as he glanced over to the horse. What about you?

The gelding snorted and tossed its head up high.

Muttering under his breath Laveranues threw the large wooden club to the ground and dropped to his knees alongside the unresponsive prince with the egg-sized lump forming on the back of his head. He turned his body over with a grunt and stared at his face for a moment.

You know, it is long rumored that I sold my own mother for a flagon of flat ale but those are malicious lies, let me tell you. It was for a loaf of bread and a hot apple pie.

For several seconds he gazed off into the distance, licking his lips.

It was truly wondrous pie, he whispered. It really was. Now let me assure you when you wake you will suffer a head pain like no other but you, my good and wealthy man, hold the key to my riches. I’d like to think I’ve also done you a favor. In years to come you can tell your children, and let your children tell their children that you were blindsided and robbed by the fabled Laveranues Le Fay. Just think how popular you’ll be.

Prince Jericho’s mouth was slack and hanging three quarters open with a long sliver of drool snaking down his chin so Laveranues gently closed it and patted his cheek. Shuffling over to his feet he placed a moccasin against the prince’s riding boot, measuring them and grunted in satisfaction. Tugging them off the man’s feet he discarded his own, and then lifted the body up so he could unbuckle the strap of his shining breastplate.

That's awfully nice of you. remarked Laveranues lifting it clear and gazing at the beautifully crafted metal armor.

Then he removed the cloak trimmed with ermine and brushed the dirt from it and stripped