The Pitchfork of Destiny

by Jack Heckel

  “But a magical ox?”

  “Exactly,” he said, smiling. “I did tell you when I brought him home that he was magical. I mean, I wouldn’t have spent a whole bag of gold on a regular old ox. I’m not an ass.”

  His smile was wiped away as Liz’s face turned as red as her hair. She pointed her finger at him. He would have rather faced a sword than her angry pointing.

  “I . . . I thought you were being witty and wry, not daft. You really spent a whole bag of gold on this ox?”

  Charming nodded silently, not sure what to say.

  “And, how exactly do you work a magical ox?”

  “Well, since Goliath is the expert, I simply tell him what to do and he pulls. At one point, he didn’t want to turn around, and I had to help him, but by and large, I thought he did an excellent job.”

  Charming looked down at the ox for support, but the ox just blinked and went on chewing.

  Liz fell silent. Her green eyes drilled into him. “So, you gave him instructions?”

  Charming swallowed. “Yes, I hitched up the yoke and I gave Goliath instructions. The merchant said that the ox knew everything. I assisted as I could.” She said nothing to this, and Charming filled the silence by smoothing his tunic, then stumbling on. “I must say, I felt that I was giving orders at a superior level. I instructed him just as you said. There was a slight manure-­break incident, but the two of us resolved it amicably.”

  “I told you to guide him . . . to . . . to lead him!” she spluttered.

  “And that’s what I did, fairly eloquently, I might add. I pointed and shouted a great deal of encouragement.”

  Liz gave an exasperated sigh and turned to march back toward the cottage.

  “Elizabeth?” Charming pursued her but made certain not to overtake his wife. “I did my best. I know I’m not the greatest farmer, but I thought we did well for our first time.”

  She whirled on him, and her pointing finger planted itself in his chest. “You stood in a field and shouted instructions to an ox.”

  He smiled again, but this time with less certainty. “Yes, that’s exactly what I did. I . . . I can’t believe it worked.”

  “It didn’t work, Edward!” She clucked her tongue, her expression full of scorn. “I didn’t expect much, but I can’t believe how badly you messed up such a simple job . . .”

  Charming felt his face fall. He suddenly realized what a fool he had been to think that he could ever be a farmer.

  She raised her finger to shake it in his face. “And, to imagine that you were duped by some market trickster into spending our gold on a magic ox . . .”

  He lowered his eyes to the ground in shame as she pointed out all the flaws in Goliath, his swayback and patchy coat. Of course, the ox wasn’t magical. Of course, the field was ruined. Everything was ruined. He sighed deeply as he contemplated the fact that, once again, he was a failure.

  Liz fell silent and her hand cupped his chin and she raised his eyes to hers. “I am sorry, Edward. You know I don’t really care about the field or the ox or the gold, right? I just want you to be happy, and I never believed that being a farmer would make you happy. But, if it is really what you want to do, then I will support you.”

  A great sense of weariness came over Charming. What did he want to do, to be? It was a question that he had asked himself for months. He was no longer Prince Charming. He had no duties to speak of. Thanks to the dwarf . . . ves’ play, he had a wife who was even wealthier than he was. He had no idea what to do with himself, and it was obvious that farming was not in his future.

  “Liz,” he said, “I don’t know. I trained my whole life to slay a dragon, and that never came to pass, which is fortunate, since . . . well, never mind. And, when I wasn’t preparing for that, I was readying myself to take my father’s throne, and that responsibility has fallen to your brother. I guess I’m still trying to find my purpose.”

  Unexpectedly, she kissed him. It was a fierce, passionate kiss, the sort that stole his breath.

  When she pulled away, a smile shone on her face. “That is one of the most humble, self-­effacing things that I’ve ever heard you say.”

  “Thank you, my love.”

  “But,” she added, “you will never be a farmer, and that ox is not magical.”

  He looked at Goliath, who looked back at him, then shook his head violently.

  “Traitor,” Charming mumbled, but he said it with a light voice. He knew she was at least partially right. He would never be a farmer, but he was pretty sure that Goliath was, if not magical, amazing. In any event, he would find something to excel at, perhaps cheese making. There was an old cave nearby where he might age the milk. He would, of course, need the most magnificent cows available and . . .

  “Come on. Let’s unhook this poor beast,” Liz said, linking her hand in his and making him forget becoming the most famous cheesemaker in all the land, much to the loss of the kingdom.

  They were in the middle of removing the mangled plow from Goliath when they heard a clatter of hooves on the path to their cottage.

  “We weren’t expecting anyone, were we?” he asked.

  Liz shook her head. Charming picked up a length of broken plow handle from the ground and stepped in front of her.

  “Charming!” came a familiar shout, and they watched as King William Pickett, his red hair blazing in the sun, plunged his horse down the hill toward them.

  “Will?” said Liz, stepping out from behind Charming.

  Will galloped his horse recklessly across the uneven field. Charming and Liz could see that the poor creature had been ridden too hard, its body heaved with the effort of breathing, and its flanks were white with foam. As Will drew near, he pulled hard on the reins and threw himself from the saddle. However, his feet tangled in the stirrups, and he crashed to the muddy ground. Without pausing, Will picked himself up and rushed unsteadily toward Charming. Will looked for all the world like a madman, and Charming knew had it been anyone else, he would have brained them with his makeshift club as a matter of courtesy. Even so, he was sorely tempted.

  “Your Majesty?” said Charming, going to a knee briefly before rising as Will stumbled again and fell to his knees breathing hard. It was obvious that he, like his horse, was exhausted.

  Liz discarded ceremony and went straight to her brother. Kneeling beside him, she put an arm on his shoulder. “Will? What’s happened? Is it about the wedding?”

  Will ignored Liz and, reaching up, grabbed Charming by the tunic. “I need you, Charming!”

  “My King, I am at your ser­vice, you know you have but to ask,” said Charming with a gasp as he struggled to keep Will from dragging him down.

  “Will! Have you gone mad?” asked Liz. “Let go of my husband and tell us what is wrong!”

  Will stared between the two of them, his mouth moving soundlessly, clearly not knowing how to begin.

  Liz put her hands over Will’s and pried them loose from Charming’s lapels. “William Jack Pickett, tell me what is going on!”

  Will’s voice was suddenly very young. “There is . . . there is . . . a dragon. It has captured Elle. I mean, kidnapped Elle. It took her.”

  “A dragon?” asked Liz.

  “A dragon!” exclaimed Charming.

  “Yes, a dragon,” said Will. “There’s a dragon, and it took Elle.”

  Will’s eyes suddenly became wet, but they were unspent tears of anger, not sorrow. “It thinks I slew the Wyrm of the South.” Will swallowed hard and put his head in his hands. Sobs began to wrack his body. “My lie is going to get Elle killed.”

  Liz and Charming exchanged a silent look over the top of Will’s head.

  Will’s hands lashed up with a sudden violence and grabbed Charming’s tunic again. This time he managed to pull Charming down to the ground beside him.

  “They say if you need to catch a
rat, find a rat-­catcher. Do you know what I mean?” Will asked, eyes streaming.

  “No,” said Charming. “As far as I know, I’ve never seen a rat in my life. I did catch a glimpse once of a pair of mice, but I think they were on an errand for the Royal Tailor. I mean, why else would they be carrying ribbon and thread?”

  But Liz seemed to understand something that Charming had not grasped yet. “Will? I mean, King William? Don’t . . .” she said, a hint of hardness in her voice.

  “Liz, there’s only one man in the entire kingdom who knows how to slay a dragon. I need Charming.”

  With a rush comprehension, Charming realized what Will was asking. An odd mix of emotions passed through him. His heart was sick for Will and desperately worried for Lady Rapunzel, even if she never missed an opportunity to mention his treatment of her hair, but there was part of him, a real and not insignificant part of him, that was intrigued by the thought that there was a new dragon and thrilled that he was being asked to fight it, and yet questing against a dragon was an uncertain prospect even in the best of circumstances, and if Will’s condition was any indication, these were not the best of circumstances. He hesitated. It would mean leaving Liz, but this was what he had been waiting for, a purpose, and he couldn’t abandon Will and Elle. He raised himself onto his knees and thrust the plow handle into the air like a sword.

  “I, Edward Michael Charming, pledge my . . .” he grimaced at the piece of wood in his hand, “sword and my life to you, my brother-­in-­law, the King, and this just—­”

  “NO!” interrupted Liz.

  “What do you mean no?” said Will, wiping the tears from his eyes with the back of his hand and leaving a streak of mud behind.

  “He’s . . . he’s a farmer,” stuttered Liz.

  “You said I’d never be a farmer,” Charming pointed out. “Besides, this is about a dragon. This is what I do. This is what I was always meant to do.” He paused as his doubts returned, and he continued less certainly. “Of course, that was before I met you, Liz. You are my one true love, and . . .”

  “There you have it,” Will interrupted. “This is Charming’s destiny. You are his true love, and Elle is mine. You would expect Charming to come after you, and I must go after Elle. You do want us to rescue Elle, don’t you?”

  “Of course Elle must be rescued,” Liz said with a cluck of irritation. “But where will you go? What is your plan? Why don’t I see an army behind you?”

  “Yes, where are your soldiers, Your Majesty?” Charming asked, looking about to see if they might be hiding among the furrows of the field.

  “Plan? Go? Soldiers?” Will asked uncertainly.

  “Yes,” Liz said in a clipped voice that bit each word viciously. “Where is this dragon? What kind of dragon is it? Where will you be taking my husband when you go on your fool’s quest? How will you kill the thing when you find it?”

  “He’s the Great Dragon of the North, so he must be somewhere in the north,” answered Will uncertainly. “As for how to kill him, that’s why I’m taking Charming.”

  Liz raised an eyebrow, as Charming nodded in agreement at this last point.

  “So, the plan is for you and Edward to ride off alone? Against a dragon?” asked Liz.

  There was a moment of strained silence that was interrupted when Charming asked, “Seriously, where have you hidden your guard?” He turned in circles, glancing this way and that. “And did you say Great Dragon of the North, as in, Volthraxus?”

  “I don’t know,” mumbled Will. “Things were a little confused when we rode out. At some point, we stopped to pick up fresh horses. I think I rode ahead while they were arranging things. And yes, it was the Great Dragon of the North. I don’t know anything about a Volthraxus.”

  “You mean you rode that horse without stopping from Castle White?” asked Liz, pointing at the exhausted stallion.

  “Yes.” Will nodded glumly. “Everything was taking too long.”

  “You mean you, the King, rode here alone and unguarded?” Charming asked. “And you actually saw Volthraxus?”

  “Um . . . yes and yes?” Will answered.

  “Madness!” shouted Charming, then catching himself, he amended, “I mean that wasn’t very prudent, Your Majesty.”

  “Which? Riding without my guard or seeing the dragon?”

  “Both!”

  “But it’s the sort of thing you would do,” Will said defensively.

  “Well, possibly, but I have never been the King,” Charming rebuked, while giving a quick glance at the sky. “Don’t you remember our last journey together? The woods are filled with brigands and trolls and things. As for Volthraxus . . .” Charming wasn’t able to put into words the dread he was feeling, having heard that name.

  “Well, nothing happened. And now we can ride together, and you will keep me safe.”

  “I suppose so,” replied Charming, rubbing his chin in thought. He quietly mouthed the word Volthraxus to himself.

  “It’s perfect,” said Will, warming to the argument. “Last time we had no trouble defeating whatever we ran into.”

  “I guess that’s right,” Charming agreed, but his brow knitted.

  “Listen, Will,” said Liz, stepping in quickly before Will made the decision a fait accompli. “I love Elle like a sister. However, it is too late for anyone to do anything today. You are exhausted from your ride, and your horse is near death, and Edward has been ‘farming’ all day. Let’s all go inside and eat and get some rest. Edward, can you tend to the King’s horse? In the morning, we’ll talk about everything and make a plan. Then the three of us will find a way to help Elle.”

  “But, you are staying here,” said Will and Charming together.

  “No, I’m not,” said Liz. “I’m not sure what fairy tale you two are remembering, but the last time the pair of you went off alone, a troll almost took Edward’s head off, and Will nearly died of blood poisoning from drinking at that foul tavern.”

  Charming and Will flinched as Gnarsh the Troll and the horrid beer of the Cooked Goose blended together in a noxious mixture of memories.* They both sunk into a melancholy at the remembrance, which for Charming also included the disgrace of being disowned by his father, which, no matter the time or distance, still stung.

  “But . . .” Will began.

  “No, ‘buts,’ ” Liz said sternly. “This time the two of you will not ride away and leave me behind to worry and wait.”

  Charming opened his mouth to say something, but Liz’s emerald eyes met his, and something in her look silenced him. This was not about him, or at least not entirely. This was about Will. It was obvious that the King was not himself, and it was just as obvious that Liz had decided that they needed to delay him as long as possible and give him time to come to his senses, and perhaps for his army to find him.

  Ultimately, Liz managed to coax Will back to the cottage and get him to admit that he was both tired and hungry. Admittedly, she was helped by the fact that Will was on the point of collapse and simply didn’t have the strength to do much more than gesture wildly and mumble. She prepared supper while Charming tended to the horse and made sure Goliath was well.

  As he brushed and fed the animals, his thoughts were on Volthraxus. He knew with a certainty that the best course, and the one least likely to get the King or Liz killed, was for him to take on this quest alone. Perhaps his reputation ­coupled with sheer audacity would be enough to win the day.

  It would give me a chance to make up for past failures: never killing the dragon, never saving the princess, wearing that feathery hat after summer. Why doesn’t fighting a dragon sound as attractive as it might once have?

  What he didn’t want to admit, what he had never admitted to anyone, and what he would certainly not reveal now was that after reading everything ever written about fighting dragons, he had determined without any doubt that no man, no matter how s
killed, had any hope of defeating a dragon in single combat. And this was Volthraxus, the Killing Wind. If the legends were true, he was an ancient male dragon of immense power. Charming vaguely recalled something about a weakness that Volthraxus had, but he couldn’t remember exactly what it was, and it probably didn’t matter. In the stories, every dragon always had a crucial weakness, but in truth, they were rarely useful. You needed two things to slay a dragon, for it to make a mistake and lots of luck, and having an army at your back didn’t hurt either. Okay, three things. And, even then, fighting a dragon was almost universally a death sentence, and now Charming had Liz and a happily ever after that he wanted to live.

  Nevertheless, it seemed inevitable that he would ride forth to battle the beast, so Charming’s thoughts naturally turned to the far more important question of what he would wear. Unfortunately, there his confidence was not what it once was. He was not at all certain what condition his questing clothing was in, and as he made his way back to the cottage, he came to the sudden, horrible realization that even if they had been properly pressed before being packed away, they would definitely be so last year.

  When he finally joined the siblings, it was over a melancholy meal, during which Will mumbled incoherently about what had transpired at Castle White, and Charming worried over how he was going to brave being seen on an actual quest in out-­of-­date clothes. Besides being distracted over the age-­old question of cape or hood, trying to focus on Will’s story was not helped by the fact that, to Charming’s mind, Will was a terrible storyteller. His descriptions were lacking and his word choices abysmal. But, as they pieced the tale together, Charming’s mood began to rise.

  The behavior Volthraxus exhibited, and particularly the note he had left behind, seemed to confirm the stories about him, that he was a creature that understood the proper forms. The dragon would, of course, take every opportunity to kill anyone coming to slay him, but he would probably treat Elle quite well and would certainly not raise a claw against her until he could face Will or Will’s appointed hero. Charming tried to explain this as they ate, leaving out the fact that the King’s champion would almost certainly die, but Will was in no mood to hear reason. After a time, Charming sunk into his own brooding silence as he thought about what he would need to pack.