Amanda Applewood and the Return of the False King
R. Williamson
Book 1
Everworld
Amanda Applewood and the Return of the False King
By R. Williamson
ISBN - 9781520495620
Originally Printed 2017
Second Edition Printed 2020
Copyright © 2017 by R. Williamson
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law. For permission requests, write to the author, addressed “Attention: Permissions Coordinator,” at the email address below.
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This book is a work of fiction.
Nana and Papa
Tarsinia
Apples of Life
Uncle Everett
Day Two at the Farm
Jack and Jill
The Book
The Covered Bridge
Tarsinia
Percy
Trevor
The Eye
Fracking
Rufus King
Rheme
Castle Rheme
Earthquake
Ribesal
Otto
Woods
Tracking
Sarah
G’nolls
Escape
Clues
Reunited
The Grand Bard Merrick
The Mouse that Stole the Cheese
The Windowless Van
Diversion
Lightning
Jade and Esmeralda
Everett and Amanda
Onward
More Quakes
The Dragons Lair
A Crack in the Sky
Airmail
The Truth Will Set You Free
Is that a Dragon?
Battle Lines
War
Going North Dakota
The Revenge of Elkor
Back on the Farm
Percy the Hero
School
Nana's Note
Nana and Papa
Wrapped in a spell that shrouded her presence, the witch looked out over the pond studying the farmer and the little girl as they bobbed up and down in their tidy red canoe. The boat was undersized for such a large man; forcing him to sit on the bottom with his knees pulled in close to keep it from tipping. In front him, perched high on the seat and wearing a slightly oversized yellow life jacket, his companion chattered nonstop as she stared intently at the worm she was trying to put on her hook.
“Like this Papa?” she said as she held the rod out for inspection.
“Like this, Amanda,” he said as he tucked the loose ends in and around her hook. “If you’re not careful, the fish will steal your worm, and we’ll have to eat frozen chicken fingers for supper.”
“I like chicken fingers.” she said.
“So, do I, but don’t tell your Nana.”
They drifted effortlessly on the calm water as sunlight filtered through the leaves of the overhanging trees that cast speckled shadows around the edges of the pool. Papa followed the sun by paddling the canoe occasionally; keeping it into shadows where the plump silver fish they hoped to catch for supper were hiding.
“When is my dad coming back?” asked Amanda.
Papa tensed a bit. The thought of that man made him clench his jaw.
“What does your mother say?” he replied, knowing her father was leaving and with any luck, he wouldn’t be coming back.
“She says she’s not sure. She says dad has some things to work out.”
“How does that make you feel?”
“It’s like the time he was away on the boat that was protecting the whales. He was gone for a while but then he came back.”
Without replying, he adjusted the boat and directed his granddaughter to try casting near a moss-covered stump that rose out of the water like a rotten tooth.
With a little flick, she tossed her bobber and continued to natter on, recounting the daily events on Bikini Bottom with the seriousness of a TV anchor.
“And then Squidward said to Spongebob, ‘You bought a big screen TV just so you could play in the box?’ and then Patrick, you know the starfish, said ‘I didn’t think it would work.’ Isn’t that funny Papa?”
ZZZZZZZZZ! Line streamed out of her reel, her red and white bobber dipped below the surface.
“Looks like a big one,” said Papa.
“Help me, papa! He’s gonna get away!”
“You’ll be ok. Do it just like I showed you.”
Amanda tugged the rod back and then spun the crank as fast as she could before the fish could take up all the slack. “Papa!” she pleaded.
“You’re doing it.”
It took only three or four repetitions for her to find her rhythm, and then her initial panic transformed itself into determination. After several minutes of hard fighting, the fish was close enough to the boat for her grandfather to get the net under it. He pulled it out and held it up for her to admire.
“That’s got to be the biggest fish in the pond,” said Papa. “He’ll be good eating.”
Amanda’s face saddened. “Can we let him go?”
“Are you sure?”
“He’s probably the daddy to all the other fish,” said Amanda. “I don’t want to take their dad away from them.”
He nodded his assent. Gently, Papa removed the hook from the bass’s upper lip and let Amanda touch it just once. “Go be a good dad,” she said to the gasping silver creature.
Papa lowered it under the surface of the water and moved it back and forth a few times to let it catch its breath. He opened his hand, and they watched it disappear into the shadows.
“Can we go back?” asked Amanda.
“Sure. I guess its chicken fingers and fries for supper.”
“Yeah!” squealed the little girl.
-----
Hand-in-hand, they walked in silence back to a green and white house with a wrap-around porch. The witch, in the ethereal form of a wraith, trailed along from a discrete distance. As they rounded the gate, they caught sight of a pleasant looking woman in her later years hauling a bushel of apples up through the gaping double entrance that led to the root cellar. A blue merle Australian Shepherd trotted over to greet them. Amanda scratched his head and let him lick her face.
“Let me get that for you Til,” said Papa. He rushed over and took up her burden.
“We caught one this big!” said Amanda holding her arms out about twice as wide as the truth.
Nana looked down over her glasses at her. Amanda brought her hands together until they represented a closer approximation to the actual size of the fish. “And?” said Nana. “I have a skillet just waiting for something to put in it.”
“We let him go,” she said.
She looked to her husband for an explanation, but a quick gesture with his head told her to let it go for now. As they were speaking, the witch glided to within listening distance and hovered, barely visible, in the shadow of an overlarge apple tree that guarded the door.
“I suppose you’ll be wanting chicken fingers for supper,” she laughed.
Amanda hugged her Nana. “Where’s mom?”
“In the house with the baby. She’s getting ready to run into town. If you
want to go with her, you should hurry inside and change.”
Without another word, Amanda zipped through the screen door into the house. They could hear her footfalls as she galloped up the stairs.
“She must have gotten her light-footedness from you,” said Nana.
“I hope so, it means she has her feet planted firmly on the ground,” he retorted with a laugh.
Nana grew serious for a moment.
“Otto was by with a message while you were out.”
“Uh, huh,” replied Papa.
“King Torquil isn’t doing very well. His brother is making noises that Princess Windy will need a regent until she gains more experience.”
The witch floated even closer, sticking to the shadows so as not to be detected.
“Regent my fat ass! If Rufus gets his hands on the kingdom, Windy will be down a well within a month.”
“What do you think we should do?” asked Nana.
“We knew this day would come. We should just stick to the plan. When the King passes, we’ll make sure we’re there to follow his wishes and protect the Princess,”
“Rufus is bound to make an overture to us.”
“We’ll handle the situation when it presents itself,” replied Papa. “Not like last time.”
“As I recall, I wasn’t the one who punched him the nose.” said Nana.
“He had it coming. But I might handle a similar situation differently if it were to come up again.”
“Not in a million years would you handle it any differently,” she laughed. “He’s just lucky you didn’t send him to the moon.”
“That’s where I was aiming.” Papa joined her in her laughter.
“We should get supper on.” said Nana as she got the door for him and they disappeared inside.
The witch considered for a moment what to do next before floating away from the house. She would need to inform the Prince.
Tarsinia
Beside a worn but well-kept barn, hidden by the farmer’s magic, there was an entrance to a trail that led away from the farm and into the woods. Careful to avoid the many cantrips set by the wizards to detect unwanted trespassers, Merga floated along its course. Rustling the foliage with the gentleness of a summer breeze, she made her way towards the gateway that was under the care of James and Matilda Applewood.
Just beyond a briar patch set to deter all but the most determined, it came into view - a green covered bridge, constructed in 1884 by James’ grandfather. It spanned a slow-moving creek at the bottom of a deep ravine but to anyone from this world who happened by, it would appear to be a fallen log with roots blocking access, or a termite mound the size of a small house. Only the special few with magic within would see the magical bridge that connected the two worlds.
“That’s new,” she said to herself. A thread of spider silk hung almost invisible across the threshold. She cast a minor spell and a tiny whirlwind of dust appeared on her upraised palm. She blew gently towards the entrance and the vortex floated away from her. Several more silver strands hung this way and that between herself and the gateway. “Clever,” she admitted.
She considered for a moment how best to deal with this minor annoyance, then removed a small vial from one of her many pockets. She whispered some words and grimaced when she swallowed the vile tasting potion. Her transformation into in the form of a sleek black rat was almost immediate. Still careful to avoid the tripwires, Merga scurried across the threshold.
It was raining when she emerged onto the Grand Highway of Tarsinia. Through the mist, Hightower Castle was no more than a vague shape in the distance.
“Ugh,” she grunted. She pulled the hood of her cloak over her head and started to walk.
Later, in the anti-chambers of Prince Rufus, the witch presented herself before his secretary.
“Is he in?”
“I’ll announce you. Please have a seat,” said the stiff little man wearing a sash bearing the orange and white crest of the Prince. He went back to his work.
Merga waited. When it appeared that the secretary had no intention of getting up immediately, she cleared her throat and said, “Unless I’m mistaken you need to actually enter his chambers in order to announce me.”
The little man grinned politely. “Of course, right away,” he said and went back to his work.
Again, she waited; her annoyance rising into anger. She cleared her throat again. The little man held up his hand to forestall her comment. He took up his quill. “Whom shall I say is calling?”
“You know who I am,” she said impatiently.
“His Highness has so many visitors. I’d hate to get it wrong. Name?”
“Do you really want to play this game with me?” she said.
The papers on his desk began to smolder. His eyes opened wide, and he tapped at them. Several of them started to curl up on the edges. A flame appeared on one particularly long document that probably took days for the clerk to prepare. He batted at it furiously.
“Right away, Milady.” He jumped up from his desk and scurried into the Prince’s chambers without further delay.
“His Highness will see you now,” said the stiff little man as he bowed deeply.
She glared at him as she passed.
The Prince was hard at work behind his desk and looked up as she approached. A welcome smile spread across his face.
“Merga, darling,” he said warmly as he rose to greet her.
She glanced sideways to check her appearance as she passed one of the many full-length mirrors that decorated the Prince’s apartment. Satisfied, she tucked in a loose strand of her lustrous raven colored hair and wiped a smudge off her pale blue cheek. Her expression hardened.
“Rufus, that little goblin you have guarding your door is going to have to go,” she said.
“Merga dearest. Hikkum might be a pain, but without him, there would be so many interruptions I’d never get anything done.” He leaned in for a kiss. She turned away at the last moment, and his lips barely grazed her cheek.
“But he knows who I am. Or does he think I’m just one of your many dalliances that’s run its course.”
“Of course not. But you’re not a princess, or a duchess, or a countess. I must watch my every move. I’ll need the blessing of the houses if I’m to convince them that my becoming Regent is a wise course of action.”
“What you mean is that if you appear available, one or two of them might consider it advantageous to support you, especially if that support included marrying one of their daughters.”
“It’s how the game is played. You know that as well as anyone,” said the Prince. “But, that’s not why you’re here. Why have you stopped watching the farmer and his wife?” he said as he unconsciously caressed the crook in his nose that the farmer had given him.
“I have news,” she said.
She walked across his study and poured herself a glass of wine from one of his favorite bottles. As she poured, she watched his expression darken at her impertinence. She sipped at the glass and watched as he balled up his fists. After a moment he collected himself and smiled warmly.
“And?”
“They won’t support you. They’ve promised Torquil they’ll support his daughter.”
“Without the blessing of those pinkling wizard bastards, the houses wouldn’t dare support me against the Princess.”
“They’ll have to go,” said the witch.
“Do you think you’re up to the challenge?”
“Do you promise to marry me and make me Queen?”
“Is that your price?”
“It is.”
“Then I promise,” said Rufus.
She laughed and shook her head.
“If you think I’d take your word for it, you must think me a fool. Hold out your hand.”
Warily, he did as he was told. Merga drew a thin black knife from up her sleeve. His eyes widened as she approached - a glass of wine in one hand, the dark blade in the other. She swallowed the wine in a gulp and to
ssed the glass to the side. It shattered, but neither looked away. Merga placed the tip of the dagger on the Prince’s palm.
“Now wait a minute…Owww, hell!” he shrieked as she drew the blade across his palm.
Without hesitation, the witch cut her own palm and watched as the blood swelled to fill her cupped hand and drip over the sides onto the ornate rug beneath her feet. She pressed their hands together and muttered an incantation.
“Now. Promise me,” she said.
“I promise.”
“You promise what?”
“When I become King - I promise to marry you and make you my Queen.”
“On pain of death,” added Merga. A warm glow spread into their hands and Rufus winced.
After several moments, the pain passed, and she released her grip on him. “We are bound.”
He pulled his closed fist to his chest and stared darkly at the witch.
“Look at it.”
He hesitated.
“Look at it!” she commanded.
Slowly Rufus looked at his palm. The wound was healed, but a bright purple scar remained.
“If you betray me… the wound will open, and you’ll bleed to death. It won’t be quick, but I promise you, it will be painful.”
Apples of Life
Summer became fall. The last few apples had all been picked. The green leaves of one season were gone, replaced with the gold and red of the next. Papa walked down the lines of trees looking for stray branches that would need to be pruned during in the upcoming winter.
“Papa, look at these,” called Amanda.
She was holding an assortment of leaves carefully collected and arranged in a fan as she ran towards him. The temperature had dropped unexpectedly so she was bundled up in some of her uncle’s old clothes, a bright green down-filled vest hung to her knees over a grey sweatshirt that was rolled up at the sleeves. She pushed the oversized toque back with the back of her hand and shoved her prize up towards her grandfather for inspection.
“When is mom coming up from the city?” she asked.
“Tomorrow, she’s bringing up a giant turkey for Thanksgiving.”
A rustling to his left caught Papa’s attention and just as he turned, a tiny creature scampered out from among the fallen leaves towards him.
Amanda Applewood and the Return of the False King: An Everworld Book Page 1