Jeff Long - A Princess of Jasoom

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A Princess of Jasoom: The Death of Kings

Chapter One: The Death of Kings

words by Jeff, art by David

The distance between the twin cities of Helium was never greater for me than

it was on the day of my brother's death.

As one hundred thoats carrying the highest ranking officers of my father's

Navy paraded in single file toward the capital, the Scarlet Tower of Greater

Helium grew on the horizon and the Yellow Tower of Lesser Helium shrank

behind us. At the procession's head was a golden chariot, bearing the body of

my brother. His mortal wounds remained undressed, as befit tradition. It fell to

me, the ranking officer of his command, to bear Mors Kajak to his Reward.

Silently I rode, directly behind that chariot. As I stared at it, my mind replayed

again and again the scene that had cost my empire its rightful heir and my

father, Moros Tar, his eldest son.

It had been my fault.

A nudge at my arm, and I turned to see an odwar gesturing toward the Gate of

Jeddaks. It was lined with faces, straining for a glimpse of the truth they had

been told, but could not believe without the testimony of their own eyes.

A thousand times had I passed beneath that yawning portal into the city of my

ancestors; but ever had it been at the head of a victorious army. Those same

faces had shouted my name in unbridled passion as anthems were sung to

Helium's honor. I often rode at the side of my brother in those happier days.

I wished now that it was he who was conducting this funeral march; that it

was my corpse in the chariot.

The streets that day were a grim affair I can barely stand to recall, even these

many years later. The journey through Lesser Helium, where my brother had

ruled as Jed, had been even more difficult. All of Helium loved Mors Kajak.

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A Princess of Jasoom: The Death of Kings

As we passed beneath somber balconies, barely a sound could be heard -- save

the soft padding of our thoats.

Eventually, I knelt before my Jeddak in the Temple of Reward, surrounded by

tapestries that bore images of my ancestors going back to the dawn of the

Empire. After the brief moment that protocol demanded, my father bid me

rise, and I spoke words that were old as the Empire:

"Mors Kajak, Jed of Lesser Helium, Defender of the Faith and son of Moros

Tar, seeks his Reward," I intoned, according to tradition. "May he serve Issus

in the proud manner he has served Helium."

My voice held. Barely.

Moros Tar looked down upon me from the Throne of Righteousness. He did

not speak the ancient response.

Instead, he closed his eyes. When his lids fluttered open, there was an

unmistakable redness.

"I am tired," said Moros Tar. "The war has taken an awful toll."

There was a heaviness in his voice I'd never heard before.

"My brother's victory was glorious, father," I said slowly, not reacting to the

subtle stirring in the great chamber behind me. "The Seige of Flemster is

ended."

Flemster is the Heliumetic city to the northeast of the capital that was the

scene of my brother's triumph. It was also the place of my greatest shame.

Moros Tar gazed silently upon my upturned face, his own countenance a

mask. It was then that I noticed, for the first time, that he'd begun to age. The

realization stunned me, as if I'd been struck with the flat of a longsword in

battle. There were lines about his eyes. The faintest streaks of gray were shot

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A Princess of Jasoom: The Death of Kings

through the jet-black hair I had always remembered. I detected the weight

upon his shoulders that eight hundred years of rule had brought to bear.

I saw my father as none -- save my mother, perhaps -- had ever seen him

before. Something of his loneliness was imparted to me in the still chamber

that day.

"It was no victory," he said.

Then Moros Tar smiled. Under the circumstances, it shocked me more than

the realization that he had become an old man.

"My jedwars have told me of my son's prowess in the field of battle," the

Jeddak continued. "Of the honor he has brought to the House of Mor, and to

all of Helium. I am proud."

"The name Mors Kajak will long be remembered," I said.

"Yes," agreed the Jeddak. "Remembered in Helium, and feared throughout the

rest of Barsoom. But he was not the son I spoke of. "

I shook my head, knowing a thing that neither my father nor his jedwars knew.

"The Siege of Flemster shall ever bring great sorrow to my heart," Moros Tar

continued. "The Empire has lost a promising Jeddak. And yet, it gained

another whose likeness will do honor to these walls."

I said nothing, which shamed me even more.

The Jeddak stepped down from his throne and laid both hands upon my

shoulders.

"I sail for Dor tomorrow," he said. "I leave this world knowing the Empire is

safe in your care, Tardos Mors — Jeddak of Helium."

Without another word, my father retired to his private apartments at the back

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A Princess of Jasoom: The Death of Kings

of the Temple. At first, his posture was bent. But as he walked away from me,

he regained his full height. There was dignity to his step, and purpose.

Moros Tar was about to make peace with his ancestors; and seek his own

Reward.

I could only stare after him, my mind a jumble of conflicting emotion.

Dor! He could not embark upon the Final Pilgrimage now! Flemster had been

relieved, but the war was far from won. The twin cities themselves were

threatened from the east by Ptarthian forces.

Though his last words had been softly spoken, meant for my ears alone, it was

clear that many of the nobles and officers in the chamber had heard, or

guessed the Jeddak's intention. The stirring at my back rose, and soon hushed

whispers became louder. Within moments, a buzz of confusion prevailed. One

high- ranking officer hurriedly departed. There was a single shout from the

rear -- "Nay!" -- and I felt a tug at my elbow. Questions I could not answer

were asked.

I pulled away.

Turning, I faced the body of Mors Kajak. He lay there, on the dais, eyes open.

The Jed sometimes slept with open eyes, a thing I chided him about as a child.

The red stain upon his chest, however, proclaimed that my brother's sleep was

one from which he would never awaken.

Dashing to the rear of the Temple, I tore open the door to my father's private

sanctuary.

But the Jeddak was gone.

Chapter 2:

Little Green Men

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A Princess of Jasoom: The Death of Kings

The "POJ"

Table of Contents

E-mail the writer:

jefflong@livenet.net

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A Princess of Jasoom: Little Green Men

Chapter Two: Little Green Men

words by Jeff, art by Duane

The thought of my accession left me cold.

There were many about the palace who shared their opinions with me, none of

which I desired to hear. Scribes and historians, poets, astronomers,

psychologists, educators, nobles of every rank, warlords and even slaves

whispered their views on the subject. I shunned them all in favor of the

companionship of my fellow soldiers. Among them, I was but a warrior of

Helium — the only rank I desired, and the only position I’d ever been taught

to endure.

The transfer of an heir to the throne is a reverant, tradition- bound process in

Helium. Precise protocols have been observed throughout the ages. Moros

Tar's sudden departure threw the Empire into chaos.

Though the the people were ready to immediately proclaim me Jeddak, it was

not so simple a thing -- especially since Moros Tar made no formal declaration

of his intent to step down from the throne. His grief must have been greater

than I could have suspected. I heard murmurings that perhaps his mind had

become unbalanced by the loss of his heir and Jeddara in so short a span. My

mother had been killed the year before in a Ptarthian raid upon the capital.

Moros Tar's eyes had looked southward, to Dor. There were his Jeddara, my

mother, and now his eldest son, my brother.

And there, too, was the Jeddak's weary heart.

Truth to tell, despite the reverence that still held in those days for the

pilgrimage upon the bosom of Iss, I cared not to see my father take that final

voyage. He was, after all, my father. And no man could ever return from Dor.

Not even a jeddak.

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A Princess of Jasoom: Little Green Men

I thought his act selfish. While my father had lost a princess and son, I had lost

a mother and brother. Now, I had lost a father -- and Helium had lost its

Jeddak. Who bore the greatest sorrow?

War still raged between Helium and Ptarth, and so concerns of the heart had to

wait for later contemplation. I took command of the Navy, and left the details

of accession to the nobles who cared much more about such things than I. To

me, victory was what mattered. And vengeance for Mors Kajak's death.

Silently, I thought to redeem myself for my failure at Flemster.

A Ptarthian fleet was massing to the east, and it was there that I cast my

attention. Aboard my flagship, I took the battle directly to the enemy, as has

ever been the way of Helium.

A week of uninterrupted naval warfare filled the skies over that barren stretch

of land. Our ships coursed back and forth, north and south -- but never did the

invaders approach closer than a thousand haads of the capital.

We had all but routed the enemy, when a small detachment of Ptarthian ships

broke off from the main group. By their course, I determined that no good

could come from this development, as it appeared they were attempting to

bypass our fleet and make way for the twin cities. My flagship and several

others of the task force pursued, leaving the balance of the Heliumetic fleet to

mop up what was left of the battle.

From the bow of the lead enemy vessel broke the colors of the Prince of

Ptarth, and almost immediately she began firing upon my flagship. I gave the

order to hoist my own device and return fire.

And thus began a long, running battle. Eventually, my flagship and the Prince

of Ptarth's vessel became isolated -- flying ever eastward, and firing almost

constantly upon one another. We'd long ago lost contact with other ships of

our respective fleets.

After one particularly horrific volley, I saw the enemy ship begin to list. Fire

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A Princess of Jasoom: Little Green Men

broke out upon her deck, and men scrambled to repair what appeared to be

massive damage. From the sides of the reeling behemoth were launched

hundreds of one-man fliers. Once clear, the smaller ships raced headlong in

our direction, firing all the way.

I could not help but admire their tenacity as we mowed them down with more

powerful and precise guns.

But a few did get through our raking fire. I gave the order to launch several

squads of one-man fliers, to engage them directly. I swung to a craft as well. A

prince of Helium does not send his men into combat. He leads them.

My craft twisted and turned upon the enemy, and a score went down before

my fire ere I was struck by an opposing projectile. But that one shot was

enough to spell disaster.

It exploded on the low windshield that buffered the racing wind, and sent a

strip of skeel crashing across my brow -- a glancing, yet effective blow. I was

knocked backward, senseless, upon the speed lever of my machine.

When I woke, I found myself hurtling at incredible speed close to the bed of

an unfamiliar sea bottom.

Pulling myself up, I could see no craft of either fleet. It had been morning

when the battle began, but now it was late afternoon. That my craft avoided

disaster during those long hours as it raced unguided is a matter of pure

chance.

But now, a low structure suddenly loomed in my path. I barely had time to

pull the nose of my flier up the fraction of a degree necessary to avoid

calamity. As I shot past the structure's roof, I glanced over my shoulder to see

what strange object it could be that lay out here in the desolate wastes of a

dead sea bottom. The sight that met my eyes brought a chill to my soul.

On the far side of the low building were a thousand green men. The beasts and

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A Princess of Jasoom: Little Green Men

chariots of a caravan were scattered about the encampment. Most of the

barbaric warriors, shouting and pushing, seemed to be swarmed about a deep

pit, not far from the structure I'd nearly run headlong into. As I shot by in my

mad flight, the wind shrieking past the bow of my trim ship, their heads turned

as one to follow my trajectory. A whoop of recognition went up from the

savage horde, and as I jammed the speed lever to its final notch I heard their

rifles belch at me.

The famed accuracy of the green man's rifle is no myth, and I was struck

almost as soon as I recognized my peril. My buoyancy tanks ruptured in a

dozen places and my motor was ripped nearly from the one-man flier's hull.

Miraculously, but no doubt intentionally, I was not struck by their pellets. My

craft plunged Barsoomward, and I crashed none too softly in one of those

scattered pockets where the ochre moss is deep and plush — which saved me

from being mangled in the wreckage.

Dazed, but not seriously hurt, I leaped to my feet as the green men bore down

upon me. My sword flashed from its scabbard and I prepared to take on an

entire horde, alone.

I hacked at the foremost, slicing an arm from the middle shoulder of one and

disemboweling another. Incredibly, none of the towering green men raised a

weapon against me. Instead, they overpowered me by sheer numbers and bore

me to the ground, helpless beneath their great weight and size.

I'd accounted for a half-dozen before I was carried off in the direction from

which they'd come.

Lofted above their heads, I was taken back toward the low building — which I

recognized now in tumbling glimpses as an incubator used by the green

hordes, larger than those I'd encountered elsewhere on Barsoom, but of

essentially the same design. The savages had not confiscated my weapons,

though I could make no use of them. A dozen rough hands clutched me

tightly. Before I could guess their intent, I'd been tossed heavily into the pit

and landed on my back on the hard clay at its bottom — a drop of about

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A Princess of Jasoom: Little Green Men

twenty of your Jasoomian "feet."

As I rose slowly to my own feet, momentarily stunned by the impact, I saw

that another red man already occupied this roughly- hewn arena. A roar went

up from the green men encircled above as I looked over my fellow prisoner.

He was resting on one knee, the point of his sword in the ground. He leaned

on the pommel to steady himself. The red man was covered in blood, his flesh

torn in a hundred places. He looked half-dead, breathing in great gasps.

"If they expect us to fight, warrior, they'll be disappointed," I said under my

breath, glancing up at the contorted green faces. "I'll not raise my blade

against one who so obviously has no power to harm me."

He shook his head, gesturing weakly about us. I noticed then the bodies piled

about the pit. Young green ones, scarcely out of the shell; miniatures of the

monsters above, hacked to pieces — presumably by the sword of this red man.

"Two days," the warrior grunted. "Possibly three. I've lost count. No sleep. No

food or water. But they keep coming."

The sea of hideous faces above parted and others replaced them at the rim of

the pit. Without preamble, a half-dozen green hatchlings were dumped over

the side as precariously as I had been.

Four feet tall, the young were more head than body. But their scrawny

appearance was deceiving.

Green Barsoomians emerge from the shell even more ferocious than their

hideous sires, guided by a heredity instinct devoted to one thing: destruction

of whatever they encounter. More often than not, the hatchlings use four of

their six limbs for locomotion, and thus possess an uncanny, lightning-like

speed. If they see a thing, their only thought is to attack it. I'd heard tell of

hatchlings falling upon the green women assigned to rear them in their

formative months and rending them limb from limb — an occurrence that is

the height of hilarity among other members of the horde.

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APrincessofJasoom:TheDeathofKingsChapterOne:TheDeathofKingswordsbyJeff,artbyDavidThedistancebetweenthetwincitiesofHeliumwasnevergreaterforme\thanitwasonthedayofmybrother'sdeath.Asonehundredthoatscarryingthehighestrankingofficersofmyfather\'sNavyparadedinsinglefiletowardthecapital,theScarletTowerofGr...

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Jeff Long - A Princess of Jasoom

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