Queen of the Black City

James Abraham Carter

I regained consciousness dazed and disorientated. I was lying face down, my cheek pressed to something gritty. I wasn’t on a bed, I was certain of that. I struggled to order my scattered thoughts, which were as lethargic as my prone body. I knew my name was Maxwell Hunt and that I was a technician employed by Dr Linderman as part of a team experimenting in matter transmission. But where was I?

The fog cleared a little from my memory. I’d been working inside the machine’s transmission chamber when there had been a sudden and unexpected flash of light - a blaze of penetrating illumination beyond adequate description. Then… nothing. My eyes snapped open, and I became aware of a strange sensation. It was like the roar of a crowd, but it was inside my head, not coming to me through my ears.

I levered myself up and looked around. For a moment I thought I’d gone mad. The laboratory had vanished. Instead, I was in the middle of an arena littered with corpses, but not human ones. A body lay next to me. The figure was humanoid and male. The being could have passed for an Earthman but for his emerald green skin and crimson hued hair.

I staggered to my feet, heart pounding and mouth dry with utter fear, the rush of adrenaline sweeping away my lethargy. Not ten feet from me were two green men, the last of the combatants, fighting furiously with battle-axes similar to those used by the Vikings. The taller of the two, heavily muscled and handsome despite his unusual colouration, caught his smaller opponent’s weapon with a clever hook of his axe and tore it away.

His disarmed antagonist swiftly drew a dagger and made a desperate lunge. But the bigger man was quicker. His axe swept out in a blur of speed. There was a scream of despair from his victim. Blood spurted, and the smaller man’s severed head rolled sickeningly across the sand to my very feet, causing me to recoil in horror.

The victor, having laid a gory death blow on the last of his hapless adversaries, now focused his attention on me as did every eye in the crowded arena. I cursed my stupidity. If I’d lain flat I probably would have gone unnoticed for a little longer, giving me more time to better plan my actions.

But now it was too late. With a wild maniacal yell, the he-man character charged towards me brandishing his bloody axe with murderous intent. My self-defence training kicked in. I leapt aside and his weapon, which would have cut me in two had it connected, crashed against the sand, biting deeply into the earth, preventing him from quickly freeing it. Swiftly, I took advantage of his error. I lunged forward and, as he was bent over tugging at his axe, delivered a powerful hammer blow to the back of his head with my fist.

He dropped like a poleaxed ox, twitched a little and lay still. To my relief I saw that he still breathed. I had ended the fight without blood on my hands, thank God. Seeing that my murderous opponent was hors de combat, I turned my attention to the crowd, rather shaken by my close brush with death.

The spectators stared at me silently, and there was no longer a roar inside my head. I somehow sensed that they were amazed that I, a smaller and lightly built man, had defeated a much bigger and stronger opponent. As I looked around the arena, which was entirely constructed from a black stone whose appearance reminded me of onyx, my eyes came to rest on a woman in the front row of the stadium-like structure. She, like my erstwhile opponent, possessed emerald green skin and long crimson hair. Guards stood on either side of the gilded throne-like chair in which she sat, indicating she was someone of significance, as did the rich jewellery that she wore in copious amounts. As I was wondering how to proceed in this strange situation, for clearly the matter transmitter’s malfunction had projected me into an alien world, the woman silently beckoned me towards her.

I walked forward with some trepidation, wondering what my fate would be. I had considered trying to flee, but the exits were all shut and besides, where would I go? I stopped beneath what must have been the equivalent of the royal box. The woman glared down at me. Close up I saw that she was attractive, but at the moment her rage made her look more like a venomous harpy.

I considered retreating, but before I could move the square section of stone I was standing on rose swiftly into the air like an in-ground single post car lift, catching me completely by surprise and bringing me face- to- face with the lady.

“I am Shamasema, Queen of the Black City,” she proudly announced.

I was astounded. Her voice, (if I can call it that) was more akin to a series of images and emotions than actual words. Like the murmurings of the crowd, it was perceived with my mind rather than ears. As I was to discover, the people of this strange world were all telepathic. Thought-images and feelings could be perceived and projected, overcoming the need for translation. And so strong were their abilities that even a non-telepathic person such as myself could perceive them.

“Are you paying attention,” she snapped.

“Why, yes your Majesty,” I said, coming out of my daze and bowing low.

“You odious fool,” she continued in high fury. “These games are reserved for the noble princes of foreign cities, with the final victor receiving my hand in royal marriage. You,” she derisively observed as she looked me up and down as if I was something that had just crawled out from under a rock, “are obviously a commoner.

“Your defeat of Midras, Prince of Red City, the noble I favoured, has utterly ruined the proceedings. I can’t marry him now, and I certainly shan't marry you,” she concluded with withering contempt. Then, turning to her bodyguards: “Seize this ridiculous looking fool and cast him into our deepest dungeon. He can rot there until I decide how to execute him.”

There was no way I was going to go quietly to imprisonment and death. As the guards stepped forward to grab me, I prepared for a fight to the finish. But before violence could erupt like an exploding volcano, a kindly looking elderly man intervened.

“Your Majesty,” he began. “May I remind you that the reason why only princes participate in the games is because, apart from our military class, only nobles can lawfully carry arms. However, there is nothing in our laws that specifically forbids commoners from entering the contest, and this man defeated Prince Midras unarmed. Therefore, none of our statutes have been broken.”

His words gave Shamasema pause for thought, and her hot temper cooled a little as she ruminated. “Well,” she said, still clearly displeased. “I pride myself on just rule. Nabron,” she continued, addressing the elderly man. “My rage has made me somewhat hasty. I place this stranger in your care. Find out all you can about him and send me a report. But for now get him out of my sight. His presence offends me.”

“You’d best come with me,” advised Nabron. I readily consented to that, eager to escape the queen’s fury.

Nabron guided me from the arena through a tunnel that bypassed the curious crowd. Shortly, we emerged onto the broad streets of Black City, so named because of the colour of the stone from which it was built. The architecture was very spartan, the rectangular, flat roofed buildings being constructed from cyclopean stones, all carefully fitted together without mortar. The blackness was relieved somewhat by the white cobblestone streets, and the colourful crowds that thronged them.

People didn’t wear clothes as earthlings understand the concept. Breasts were barely concealed by many ornate necklaces, and the genitals by a brightly embroidered garment resembling a g-string. If the wearer was a wealthy woman, then the jewellery was of cabochon gemstones and precious metals. The poorer classes made do with either semiprecious stones or coloured glass, depending on what they could afford. In addition to what I have mentioned, many bracelets and anklets were also worn, along with rings and hair ornaments of various styles in a glittering ostentatious display that would have made a peacock look drab by comparison.

The only vehicular traffic consisted of large carts bearing many goods. The machines, which resembled hay wagons, were steered by a tiller-like mechanism. They rumbled over the cobbles on their iron rimmed wheels without any obvious means of propulsion.

“They harness the planet’s magnetic field,” explained Nabron in answer to my question. “Each of the large hemispheres that form the wheel hubs contains a device which works by magnetic induction.”

We continued along the broad streets and into the heart of the city where its wealthy suburbs were located, and after about twenty minutes arrived at my benefactor’s residence, which was a suite on the ground floor of a three-storey apartment.

Here, we spent the remainder of the day in lengthy conversation about my origins, and how I came to Xylor, the name Nabron’s people called their world. My host was a well-educated man, a philosopher in fact, and something of a polymath. Our conversation ranged far and wide, covering many subjects concerning my world and his. I found him to be quite humble and easy to talk to, not at all arrogant or a pedant as are some learned men.

“Time has passed quickly,” observed Nabron, looking at an ornate clepsydra in his spacious study. “Queen Shamasema has invited me to a banquet in the palace this evening, and as you are in my care you can accompany me as my guest. It will give me a good opportunity to show and explain to you the social graces of our culture.”

“The queen wasn’t too happy with me when we first met,” I worriedly pointed out with a diplomatic understatement. “Won’t my showing up be like throwing fuel on a fire? I really don’t want to cause more trouble.”

Nabron smiled. “Shamasema is hot-tempered, but the fire of her rage quickly burns out. By now she will have calmed. Now, let’s freshen up before we depart. Also, I’ll give you new clothes. In our culture what you’re wearing isn’t appropriate.”

**********

The banquet hall was located in one of the wings of the sprawling palace which, like the other buildings, was austere in its architecture; only differing from them in its tremendous size. For the people of Black City, it seemed that most artistic efforts were devoted to personal adornment.

As Nabron and I passed through the doors of the large dining chamber, which was illuminated by the soft glow of lamplight and subtly scented by the aromatic oils the illuminates used as fuel, my eyes fell upon Queen Shamasema. She sat among the other bejewelled nobles at a long table laden with exotic fruits and dishes, none of which I could even begin to name, let alone adequately describe. But although hungry, the food wasn’t the focus of my attention.

The hard lines of fury had left Shamasema’s face, and I was better able to see just how beautiful she truly was. Now, I knew why princes risked death for the hand of the queen, especially when she laughed at a witty jest. But the author of the humorous tale sitting next to her was none other than Prince Midras, the very noble I had trounced in the arena. And as I stepped across the threshold with Nabron at my side, the prince’s eyes fell upon me, and his own laugh died in his throat as if he’d suddenly choked on something more bitter than wormwood.

Midras found his voice as he stared hard hatred at me. “What is that thing doing here?” he ground out in hot indignation.

Nabron spoke: “I have been invited,” calmly answered my guide as he gripped my arm - a signal that I should let him do the talking. “The queen has placed this man under my care, and so he has come with me as my guest as is customary.”

The prince shot to his feet. His chair crashed to the floor. The musicians in the corner stopped playing their exotic melody, and the room fell deathly silent. “This is an outrage,” cried Midras. “That piece of foreign filth is no man! He used sorcery to defeat me. Cheating is the only way that puny wretch could have won. He wants Shamasema for himself.”

I’m not usually easily provoked, but on this occasion the prince’s insulting accusations got to me. “I don’t need magic to knock you on your arse,” I calmly but incautiously replied.

Nabron groaned. The prince went livid. He shook off the queen’s restraining hand, grabbed a dinner knife, then leapt across the table and came at me with a bloodcurdling yell of pure hatred. I jumped away from Nabron so he wouldn’t be injured, and then the fight was on in earnest as Shamasema screamed for the guards.

I managed to evade my opponent’s initial attack, his stabbing blade missing me by a fraction. Again, he came at me as the guards burst into the room and rushed swiftly towards us. As Midras’s knife swept down in a glittering arc I blocked his right arm at the wrist, simultaneously driving my fingers into his eye. The prince screamed shrilly. He dropped his weapon and I dropped him to the floor with a solid kick in the shins. Then six guards surrounded me, weapons drawn, and I raised my hands in prudent surrender.

The queen rose from her chair, her face suffused with fury. “Again, you’ve ruined things,” she yelled at me. “First the games, and now the banquet. Oh, how I hate you!” Then to the guards: “He is to be confined to Nabron’s apartment until I say otherwise. Now, get him out of my sight.”

Nabron and I were escorted to his home under guard, with two warriors left at his front door to ensure my compliance with the queen’s command. When we were alone, I apologised to my host in a very downcast manner.

“I’m so sorry for what happened,” I said. “It seems I cause trouble wherever I go, and now I’ve made you a possible target for the queen’s displeasure as well. I should have kept my mouth shut and said nothing.”

“Don’t blame yourself,” consoled Nabron as he placed his hand on my shoulder. “The fault lies entirely with Midras. His insults and accusations were uncalled for, and his attack on you completely unjustified. And as for the queen - I really don’t know what she sees in the man. After this incident it should be clear to all that behind his facade of charm lurks a blackguard. Well, we’ll have dinner at home, and after such drama I think an early night will be in order.”

**********

It seemed that no sooner had my head touched the cylindrical pillow of the sleeping mat than Nabron was violently shaking me awake. “What is it?” I muttered, rubbing the sleep from my eyes.

“The palace is in uproar,” he explained, his face heavily lined with anxiety. “Midras is missing along with his servitors. So is the queen, and her bedchamber is in disarray.”

“What?” I gasped, coming fully awake.

“Midras has kidnapped her,” he elaborated. “In the middle of the night he has spirited her away to Red City, his home. Being unable to legally marry Shamasema the base villain has decided to take her by force.”

“Could it be an elopement?” I asked, not wishing to think the worst. “The queen admitted she favoured him.”

“The signs of struggle in her bedchamber and the dead guards indicate otherwise,” replied Nabron, heavily. “Besides, the queen wouldn’t abandon her people, her responsibilities. I know her too well to believe that.”

I felt sick at the thought of Shamasema in the hands of that scoundrel. I got up and started pacing the floor - an outlet for my growing anxiety.

“I feel partly responsible,” I confessed. “If I hadn’t blundered my way into your lives none of this would have happened. I must make amends by doing something to help rescue the queen.”

Nabron looked at me carefully. “Are you sure that feelings of guilt are the only reason for your offer? Speak truthfully now. What you reveal to me will be held in utmost confidence.”

I stopped my pacing and reflected upon the matter. “I’m attracted to her,” I admitted. “Is it love? I don’t know. It’s too early to tell. But what’s the point of discussing my feelings? She is a queen and I’m a commoner, and besides all that she hates me.”

“And yet you’d still risk your life to rescue her?” he asked.

“Yes,” I answered. “I suppose you think I’m a fool.”

Nabron smiled. “Love is never foolish; despite what some cynics might say.” Then he sobered. “Well, if you’ve committed yourself to the task, then I’ll help you. Follow me.”

“But the guards at the door. How shall we deal with them?”

“They’re gone,” he replied. “They’ve been recalled to help look for the queen. You’re not on their list of priorities.”

We left Nabron’s home without incident and he led me to another part of Black City devoted to various trades. Here, he showed me his second property - a disused building he’d purchased and converted to a workshop. Nabron unlocked the door with a strange cylindrical key, and we entered. All around the spacious room were a multitude of tools and machines, most of which I couldn’t identify. But one in particular caught my attention. It looked like a two-person kayak made of silvery metal. But it differed from the Earth craft significantly. Horizontal rods projected at bow and stern, these being at right angles to its longitudinal axis. And at the ends of these rods were coppery spheres, each twice the size of a basketball.

“It’s my invention,” explained Nabron with humility when he saw me staring at it. “I call it a flying boat because that’s exactly what it does. The machine is propelled by magnetic fields. It works on similar principles to the wagons you saw in the streets. With this you can rescue the queen.”

Nabron showed me how to operate the simple controls of the machine, which I easily mastered. He also gave me directions to Red City, as well as other information I’d need to make my mission successful.

“Before you go, I’ll need to deputise you,” he explained. “As a noble I have the authority to do so. This will enable you to legally carry a weapon.” He then pressed his seal ring to my forehead. There was a brief stab of pain, and it was done. “The mark will wear off in seven days. Now, take my dagger.”

“You’re placing a great deal of faith in me,” I said as I sat in the flying boat’s cockpit. “Would you mind telling me why?”

“I consider myself a good judge of character,” he explained. “There are not many men I’d entrust with the rescue of my daughter. Shamasema also knows how to fly this craft, if for some reason you’re unable to.”

I stared at him, utterly shocked.

“The position of queen isn’t hereditary,” he continued. “Our queens are elected by vote from candidates put forward by the noble families. That’s why I’m just a noble among others, not a king. But to more important matters: If you succeed in rescuing the queen, which I believe you will, you’ll not only be saving my daughter, but will also prevent war between Black City and Red. Good luck, and may your gods be with you.”

I brought my stunned wits together and flew the air boat through a large window Nabron had opened for that purpose. Then I changed direction as I climbed skyward, and began following the course of the Chaxco River as it wound its way to Red City, its sparkling waters passing through farmlands then forested countryside. It was the same river down which Shamasema had been taken, the nefarious prince using the watercraft he had arrived in for the games to make good his midnight escape.

But the flying boat was much quicker than any ship. It was a prototype that the people of Red City knew nothing about. It would give me a considerable advantage as they wouldn’t be expecting this method of rescue.

After an hour of swift flight I arrived at Red City. Its architecture consisted primarily of hexagonal towers three storeys in height. Like Black City, the buildings were bereft of ornamentation. The main difference was their shape and material, being hexagonal and built from a red stone resembling carnelian - hence the name of the metropolis.

Broad avenues radiated outwards like the spokes of a wheel from the central plaza towards which I flew. Soon, I spotted the highest tower - a tall six storey affair rising well above the others of its kind. Nabron had informed me that important prisoners were held captive in the top floor of this building, and that this is where he was sure I’d find Shamasema. Shortly, I reached my destination and quickly moored the air boat to the railing of the balcony that encircled the tower’s top floor.

I was apprehensive as I climbed from the flyer. Would I find Shamasema? Was she safe? She’d been many hours captive in the hands of a villain. A multitude of horrible scenarios assailed my mind with their frightening possibilities. I’d take great pleasure in killing Midras if he’d harmed her in any way. Controlling my rage and fear, I crept around the balcony, ducking beneath its hexagonal windows. In a few moments I arrived at the door and pressed my ear to the panel.

I sensed a telepathic scream. Fear and rage beset me. I stepped back and violently threw my shoulder to the door with all my might. It burst open with a crash and I stumbled into the room. An awful sight confronted me. Shamasema, her jewellery torn from breasts and loins, was struggling in the arms of Midras whose fingers were thrust deeply into her slit whilst with his other hand he viciously twisted her nipple, already torn and bleeding from his digging nails as he sought to agonisingly subdue her.

The crashing open of the door had interrupted his perverse assault. With a vile oath he cast the queen aside. She hit her head on the wall and collapsed. I cursed the beast as he drew his dagger. I unsheathed the blade that Nabron had given me and the wild fight was on.

We danced around the room stabbing madly at each other with unrestrained ferocity. Both of us were cut with minor wounds. I snatched up a chair and furiously hurled it at Midras. He ducked. It smashed against the wall and fell to the floor with a riotous clatter. Another door burst open and guards, alerted by the raucous fray, poured into the chamber from the floor below as the queen struggled to her feet.

Shamasema knew of her father’s flying machine and how to operate it. “The air boat is moored to the balcony,” I yelled. “I’ll hold them off while you escape.”

But she didn’t flee. Instead, Shamasema bravely grabbed an oil lamp from a nearby table and swiftly hurled it at the rushing guards. The lamp, still lit, smashed against one hapless fellow. Sprayed fuel ignited with a roar of leaping flame. The charging warriors were enveloped in the flaring fireball. They screamed in fear and agony, and fell burning to the floor.

The horrid sight distracted Midras for a second, and in that brief moment of vulnerability I drove my fist against his chin and sent him crashing heavily to the tiles. Then the queen and I fleetly fled the room. There was no time for words. Onto the balcony we raced, swiftly scrambling into the air boat.

I quickly freed the mooring line and backed the craft away. Our escape seemed certain until Midras sprinted around the corner of the tower. Insane with rage and jealousy, and with no thought to any danger, he leapt from the balcony with a wild yell and landed in a sprawl on the airboat.

Shamasema screamed as our craft plunged frighteningly to the ground under the prince’s overloading weight. Midras lunged at me, clawed hand reaching for my throat, his face twisted by hate and his eyes glaring insanely. The ground rushed up with heart-stopping swiftness. In mere seconds we would fatally crash. Quickly, I flipped the air boat hard to port. Midras screamed wildly as he was flung off by the swift and unexpected manoeuvre. He plunged to splatter in red ruin on the unforgiving cobbles far below. I was not sorry to see his end as our craft, now freed of his dragging weight, climbed skyward like a speeding arrow.

**********

I received a hero’s welcome upon my return to Black City with the Queen. The joyous celebrations, which lasted well into the night, were quite exhausting, and although I appreciated the accolades heaped upon me I was rather glad when the party was over.

It was now late morning and I was sitting on the balcony of the palace suite reserved for visiting dignitaries, wondering what my future held. Shamasema was foremost in my mind. I needed to talk to her. On the way home from Red City I’d been alone with her, but she was considerably shaken by her horrible ordeal, and I didn’t think it was the right moment to ask the questions I’d wanted to. By early evening she’d recovered sufficiently to attend the festivities in honour of her safe return. But during the celebrations I’d had no chance of holding a private conversation as we were always surrounded by others.

By now I knew with certainty that I was in love with her. Nabron, her father, approved of me. I was certain of that. But the Queen was a different matter. She was a hot-tempered woman. Was her hatred of me abiding, or was it just of the moment, as transitory as a cloud passing over the face of the sun?

A loud knock at the door of my room brought me out of my thoughts. “Come in,” I said, wondering who it was. “It isn’t locked.”

The Queen entered and I quickly rose, bowing low, my heart racing and a warm glow infusing me at the sight of the woman I loved.

“Greetings, your Majesty,” I said, my voice betraying the intensity of my emotions.

Shamasema smiled, and it was as if the sun had emerged from behind a cloud, its warmth falling on me. “Let’s dispense with the formalities. Please be seated,” she replied.

Shamasema joined me on the balcony’s settle. “I’m sorry for the things I said to you,” she apologised.

“Well,” I replied, surprised at her words, for I thought her too haughty to express regret. “I did blunder into your life, and in the process caused considerable chaos.”

“And by doing so you saved me from a bad marriage and a worse fate. Now I realise there is more to nobility than a mere title. You may not be of royal birth, but you have a noble soul, and it is the inner man that is more important than the outer. Your heroic deeds and character have won my heart, and I would be honoured to have you as a husband.”

Joy filled me to overflowing upon hearing her wonderful words. “I love you also,” I admitted as I gently took her hand. “And your love is the most precious thing that you could ever give me.”

I saw my happiness reflected on her face as we passionately kissed, and my earnest hope that the flame of enduring love would banish the darkness of the past came to wondrous fruition in that glorious life-changing moment.

THE END