The characters (part 11)

THE DAASA

Photo by Dreamstime

(This is the eleventh in a series of character descriptions from The Death Wizard Chronicles, my six-book epic fantasy.)

Who are the Daasa and why was Invictus the sorcerer able to control them?

The Daasa are a peace-loving and intelligent race of beings who live on the other side of the Akasa Ocean, several thousand miles from the western coast of the land called Triken. Only the Daasa themselves know how many of their kind exist in the world, but in the time-frame of The Death Wizard Chronicles, they numbered close to one million. They communicate with barks, squeals and whistles instead of words, and they prefer forests to mountains or plains, though they also love oceans, lakes and rivers and are excellent swimmers. Nuts and fruits are their main source of nourishment. Like the druids of Dhutanga, they are stewards of the forest, and though the Daasa are not evil like the druids, they also resemble them in the way they psychically interrelate, moving about in single-minded droves.

In their normal state, the Daasa resemble extremely large pigs with purple eyes, and they are adorable. But like Warlish witches, they have the ability, when threatened, to transform into deadly monsters. Thorny spikes rise from their soft flesh, fangs erupt from their mouths, claws spring from their toes, and they growl like rabid wolves. In this state, a single Daasa is capable of killing a cave troll.

In the days of Invictus, a terrible creature resided within a city named Duccarita, more commonly known as the City of Thieves. This being, called the Mahanta pEpa—which in the ancient tongue meant The Great Evil—had come from across the ocean. Once on Triken, Invictus gave it free rein, and the Mahanta pEpa grew to epic proportions with supremely powerful psychic powers that enabled it to control the Daasa en masse—even those who lived across the ocean. So when the sorcerer sent his slave ships, the Daasa clambered on compliantly. Eventually Invictus managed to transport more than one hundred thousand Daasa from their homeland to Triken, where he used them for evil purposes better not discussed here.

Up next: the cave monkeys.

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Here is an excerpt:


Greg collapsed to his knees, and he was squeezing his right wrist with his left hand. His right index finger was pointing skyward, as if blaming the heavens for his unexpected predicament. I felt bile rising in my throat. The finger had become nothing but bare bone, yet somehow it still wriggled.

Greg was screaming, a high-pitched female scream, and then he looked at me with pleading eyes, as if begging me to make it all stop, to take it all back. I took out my cell phone and dialed 911, but when I held the phone to my ear it squealed so sharply I cast it away, and it plunked into the now broiling water. A small geyser followed, as if I had tossed a live hand grenade into the green muck.

I staggered toward Greg with tears in my eyes, and my legs felt heavy as sodden wood. Now he was bent over, his face between his knees but his finger still pointed straight out. Only now even the bone was dissolving, and it smoked like the end of a lit cigarette.

“What’s happening?” I said, sounding as pathetic as a little boy. But I seemed to have nothing else to offer. Then I saw Greg’s cell phone in a case attached to his belt, and I took it out and dialed 911 again. The same squealing, as loud as a siren, caused me to cast the phone down. Only this time the phone hit a root and shattered like glass on terrazzo.

Suddenly I felt the urge to run. I could make it back to my house in just a few minutes, call the police from there, and then wait at the house while they went to Greg’s rescue. Or I could even lead them to the opening in the trees and wait there. After all, I would only get in the way if I tried to help further. Leave it to the pros, right? But Greg was in serious trouble. Now he was puking. As terrified as I was, I had to do something.

I leaned over, grabbed his left bicep, and in a fit of super-crazed strength yanked the man to his feet. His face was pale, his eyes swollen and bloodshot. I’ve never seen anyone look quite so terrified. Perhaps my face mirrored his.

“We’ve got to get out of here,” I said. But it was as if I was shouting into hurricane-force winds that muffled the words.

Still, he seemed to hear me. He nodded weakly and then leaned toward the opening where we had entered the now-nightmarish cove. But as soon as he did that, something occurred that was more frightening than anything I had yet encountered, even dwarfing the face in the bathroom window. All the strength left my limbs, and I fell back on my rump and began to whimper. A pink-skinned arm, tiny yet impossibly strong, sprang from the green gook, and a hand the size of a baby’s somehow seized enough of Greg’s skinny ankle to pull him into the water.

In just a few seconds, he was dragged beneath the surface.

He pleaded with me before he went under.

“Help me!” he squealed.

Then he was gone.