The Spitting Post

by Jason R. Barden

  “I wish I had arrived here sooner,” I said, feeling that I might have been able to prevent the war.

  “We are just so happy that you stopped him before he engulfed any more lands,” replied Borloff.

  The doctor came in, and our conversation was halted. It seemed the doctor wanted to perform his daily medical inspection.

  “How does my one and only patient feel today?” asked Dr. Butcher.

  “Still hurts a little, but I’m better.”

  “Let’s see you move your arm.”

  I moved my arm as much as the restricted brace would allow. I groaned in pain as I did so. “I don’t think I can do much more of that,” I complained.

  “You will have to. You need to force that arm a little at a time to regain your range of motion. Remember, not too much, but not too little,” scolded the doc.

  Dr. Butcher did have the appearance of a mad scientist, but he was highly professional and possessed a remarkable bedside manner. He seemed knowledgeable and competent despite looking a little kooky.

  “Can I have a word with you, Ivan?” asked Borloff while pointing toward the door.

  “Certainly,” replied the doc.

  They exited and conversed out of range of my ears. I could hear their voices as they spoke lowly, but I could not decipher their words. It sounded as if they were just down the hall near the abyss room. I wondered what it was they felt the need to discuss in private. Oh well, I decided it was none of my business.

  After a few minutes of discourse, they re-entered the room as if they had made an important decision on a pressing issue. They both wore serious looks.

  “We have decided, that is, both Dr. Butcher and I, that we want you to stay here at the castle as our new master,” Borloff said.

  This came as a complete shock as I assumed they enjoyed being without a master and were not in the immediate market for a new one. I didn’t know how to reply to this gracious invitation.

  “Well, I am stunned that you would ask me, but wouldn’t you enjoy being your own masters for a change?”

  “We have been servants for so long that we know nothing else. We think you would be a fair and wise ruler. So we ask that you give up your quest and rule over this land as our king,” Dr. Butcher explained.

  “I’m grateful, but I’m truly sorry. I simply cannot give up my quest. That would be impossible.”

  “Well, once your task is complete, would you consider coming back here and making this your new home?” pleaded Borloff.

  This request had a pleasant ring to it. I could bring The Green Maiden back to this castle as my queen. We would have a butler and a doctor on staff. Of course, I would treat all my people with justice and honesty, unlike the mad violinist. I could invite the people from The Town of Diminished Desire to these lands and assist in rebuilding this once great kingdom. I would have to reconstruct the bridge that leads to this side of the canyon and then locate the townspeople to give them my formal invitation. This idea sounded marvelous indeed.

  “Yes, I will accept your kind offer, but only after my quest has been completed. Of course, you are aware that you will be treated with respect, unlike the way your former master dealt with you?”

  “Yes, sir!” they simultaneously shouted.

  “That settles it. Doc, do you suppose my arm is well enough for travel?”

  “I would rest it a few days more, but if you insist on going, there is nothing I can do to stop you.”

  “Let me get you some new attire,” said Borloff as he began making his way to the glossy black wall across from the bed. He pushed a portion of the wall and to my surprise, it turned inward to reveal a walk-in closet stuffed with various articles of clothing.

  “These should fit nicely,” the butler said as he collected a black shirt, pants, and boots.

  He handed them to me, and both he and the doc exited the room so I might change into my new clothes. I removed the rags that were my previous attire and put on the new ones. Now I was dressed in black from head to foot.

  I walked from the room into the hall to the elevator where the two were waiting. All three of us entered the elevator and traveled down to the first floor. We exited into the center tower room.

  “Wait here for a moment,” Borloff requested as he exited the room and entered the right tower section of the castle. He emerged with my gear and a bag.

  “These are your weapons and accessories. I have also packed some fresh-baked bread and put an additional canteen of water from the castle’s well into your pack,” announced Borloff.

  “Thank you. I hope I will see you both soon.”

  With that I marched through the castle door and to the outside meadow, making my way toward the haunted swamp and what lay far beyond, hoping I was moving ever closer to The Purple Swan.

  Chapter Eleven

  Bog of Sadness

  I consulted my compass and confirmed I was heading northwest. The Black Castle was at my back, and the unknown was before me. I walked through green meadows that were hospitable and made for such easy travel that my mind began its own wandering.

  I thought about the castle and of Borloff and Dr. Butcher. They were a nice pair of misfits, and it was a shame they had been treated so horribly by that evil violinist. I was determined to make it up to them if I were fortunate enough to return.

  But what if I didn’t make it back? What if this was my last cheerful moment? I couldn’t bear the thought that held me prisoner ever so tightly, the thought that I might meet my demise before reaching my journey’s conclusion. I must make it to its end, no matter what it reveals. I had to satisfy my curiosity and realize closure.

  I was so wrapped up in my ever-more inquisitive psyche that I paid no mind to my surroundings until I noticed the grass becoming soggy and squishing under my feet. I could only guess that I was nearing the swamp that Borloff had mentioned, and I was apprehensive about uncovering its waters.

  It was fortunate to be wearing long boots that kept my feet dry. Wet feet would have created nightmarish travel conditions. The grass became more saturated with every step, and I could see the colossal swamp ahead. The bog consisted of gray mud with a few dead trees spaced far apart. The sky was a dismal gray that seemed to be solid sorrow.

  I was glad that Borloff had prepared me for this portion of my quest by providing an extra canteen full of clean drinking water. Any water I found here would be acidic and poisonous. I placed one foot into the bog and pressed downward to test the depth of the mud. I didn’t want to be consumed by quicksand. My foot plunged down and the mud rose to just below my knee. It appeared I could wade through the muck safely, at least for now. I placed the other foot in and touched the bottom of the swamp with both feet. I didn’t sink any farther.

  The hike was both slow and strenuous. I could only move a few feet a minute as I had to pull one leg entirely out of the gray mud and place it down a little farther ahead of the other. It was like walking through deep sand or snow with every step clinging to my lower limbs attempting to hold me down. My legs ached and muscles hurt that I didn’t even know I had. My clean, new black pants were now so filthy it appeared as if they had been worn for years. It was not only my body that suffered. My mind was burdened with an intense sadness. I wasn’t sure if the sadness was from the dreary scenery or if something in the swamp itself were invoking those emotions. I felt so mentally exhausted and bereft of all hope that I began to weep into the mud.

  Then it occurred to me. What if this swamp was, indeed, a combination of mud and human tears? Just as I was entertaining my new hypothesis, I noticed several human skeletons scattered on both sides of me. Perhaps these bones were further evidence that the bog was, in fact, the embodiment of human sorrow.

  I stopped to rest and placed my good arm on one of the dead trees. I wiped the tears from my eyes and tried to regain my composure, but it was difficult in such an environment. Checking my compass I confirmed I was still headed northwest. It would be easy to get lost in these weeping wetlands. T
he sky matched the dreadful gray mud at my aching feet and added to my misery.

  I felt sleepy and sluggish even though I had plenty of rest before my extraction from the castle. But I realized that I had undergone surgery prior to my arrival in this horrid place. There would be no sleep in this region unless I stumbled upon more solid ground, so I had to carry on despite my body telling me otherwise.

  Finally, just a little farther ahead, I could see the end of the gray muddy bog. The land opened into a green swamp with living trees that sported green leaves. As I entered the new ecosystem I felt the sadness vacate my body and mind. It appeared I had made it out of my melancholy surroundings, but I feared the new horrors that might lie directly ahead.

  I jumped from one small patch of land to another to avoid the deep swamp waters that surrounded the tiny islands. It began to get dark as night crept toward me. I wondered how I might see to navigate in the blackness. Stopping to sleep in this swamp was out of the question even though I yearned for slumber.

  It was difficult to maintain my northwest approach because I was dodging the deep pools by navigating the small islands. The land I hopscotched across was sometimes barely big enough for both of my feet. As I zigzagged through the swampy maze, I couldn’t help but wish I were back in the comfort of The Black Castle, perhaps asleep in the cozy bed at the top of the center tower. But I was not; I was in this sedative swamp and feeling the pain of every aching step.

  I walked over the last small patch of ground, and the bog opened into a wide area of water with numerous green trees springing up from the bottom. The water was only up to about the middle of my calf. I stopped to rest for a moment and began to ponder any further movement. It was now completely dark. I couldn’t see much more than some trees that were directly in front of me. I certainly didn’t want to spend the entire night idle in this spot, but I was afraid to proceed in the blackness. What was I to do? I panicked and began to hyperventilate. The fear overwhelmed me. I wanted out. I could fall into the water face first and never make it out. I panicked even more.

  Then I saw a light—then several more. Spheres of light danced in the darkness. They were eye level but too far away to see what was causing the illumination. What if people were searching for someone lost in the marshes?

  “Hey!” I shouted. “Hey! Over here!”

  I caught myself before I spoke further. What if they were depraved persons and rather than trying to save someone, they were hunting for victims? I trembled in fear; they had the light, and I did not. I could see them coming if they approached, but I could not see to find an escape.

  The strange lights continued to swirl in various patterns, but they moved no closer to my location. What if they were not people with lanterns as I suspected? I had heard of a bizarre phenomenon known as the will-o’-the-wisp. Some say that the round lights were gases from the swamp that had caught fire. Others warned that the will-o’-the-wisp retreated when approached and led lost travelers into danger.

  Whatever the case might be, I didn’t want to come in range of the lights and run the risk of following them into nothingness. I had come too far to be led astray. I stood my ground for the remainder of the night, counting the hours one by one and attempting to keep my anxieties at bay.

  When daylight arrived, the mysterious lights vanished, leaving no trace of their nightly existence. The daytime sky was still dismal and gray, but it did have a more favorable appearance than before. I continued onward checking my compass and affirming my direction. Ahead of me was higher ground. The swamp floor was only a little higher than where I now was positioned, and the water receded somewhat. When I set foot on this new terrain I became slightly more content as I assumed I was nearing the swamp’s end. A few feet away was stagnant water filled with green algae and rotted vegetation. It smelled putrid and caused me to gag. The dead pond appeared deep and was lower than the ground on which I was standing. It was as if the earth had been scooped out to make this pungent pond of sadness. There were trees on the banks that circled the wasted waters. It appeared that the pool was not leading to the end of the swamp, as I had first assumed. Instead, it seemed to be at the center as more swamp surrounded it.

  I spotted a few alligators swimming in the filth that was the depressed pool. The gators made their way toward the bank across from where I stood. I couldn’t see their heads from my position, but it was clear from their bodies that they were gators. They reached the bank and turned around slowly to face me. That is when my heart skipped a beat in total horror. Their bodies were alligator, but their heads were human—and not just any human—they looked like The Green Maiden. Ten of the creatures were staring at me. The backs of their heads were fused to their long bodies. I shrieked in terror. Then they opened their mouths and howled in unison.

  “Find me at The Spitting Post; The Purple Swan knows the way,” they eerily beckoned with a ravenous gaze.

  I could not take any more and made a mad dash in the opposite direction. At that point I didn’t care if I was heading the wrong way as long as I was heading away from those bizarre gators. I didn’t stop until I was far from that depraved pond.

  My body finally forced me to halt and catch my breath. I was completely winded from running at an inhuman speed that was propelled by intense fear. I was back in a part of the swamp from which I had come only an hour earlier. What were those things? Why did they resemble her? Of all people, why her? I didn’t want to picture her that way, but I had the image burned deep into my mind. I was sure to have a complex of some kind over this appalling event.

  I realized I would have to find some way around that pond. It would take me a little off course, but I certainly was not going back to that forsaken place. Never. After consulting my compass, I made my way around the pond. It took even longer than expected and unfortunately, it didn’t take me to higher ground. I was trudging through the swamp waters again, which were a little above my waist this time, much deeper than before.

  The trees that emerged from the swamp floor added to the dreary setting. They were spread apart enough to navigate the cesspool with about fifteen feet of space between each of them. I wondered how anything could live in such a place.

  The water was soupy and clung to me, making it more difficult to push onward and nearly exhausting my legs into immobility. I was startled by a splash to my far right. I didn’t see what had made the sound, so I scanned the area for the source. The noise was loud so I could safely assume that whatever it was had to have been of great size.

  I turned to face the direction of the splattering and drew my pistol. I could see small ripples in the water as if something were coming my way. This didn’t look good—not good at all. Then, unexpectedly, the motion stopped squarely in front of me. I stood there in anticipation of what would come next. Something brushed against my left leg as if it were testing my resolve. I kicked with my right leg, but the water slowed my assault to a minimal strike, and I found no target. Then something struck me hard and fast from the front and knocked me off my feet. I fell backward into the stench of the bog and dropped my gun as I did so. My face went under the filthy water, and I sank to the swamp’s bottom. Because the water was only a little above waist deep, I didn’t plummet far, but it was far enough in that murky, rotten cesspool. My back touched the bottom, and I felt stagnant liquid all around me. I curled my legs under my body and stumbled to my feet.

  I emerged from the sandy bottom spitting the thick, oil-like water out of my mouth. The taste of tar and sulfur lay heavily on my tongue. My pistol was near my feet, but I knew I would not find it quickly in the dark, soupy water. Instead, I drew my sword and prepared myself for the next onslaught. Bubbles made their way to the surface of the bog, out of which sprang an enormous parasite. A huge leech about five feet long and two feet wide shot forth from beneath the swampy waters. The leech was dripping in slime much like I was. It was a sickly shade of green with a wide sucker mouth and razor-sharp teeth. I swung my blade toward the hideous monstrosity and lost my f
ooting. I nearly fell backward into the swamp again, but I caught myself at the final moment. The leech whizzed by me and landed in the water nearby.

  I scanned the area where it landed, plunging my sword into the depths hoping to slice the leech in two. After I ran out of energy, which didn’t take long, I halted my actions and waited. There was silence. The only sound I heard was my heart beating loudly in my chest. There was no splashing about or waves rippling through the disgusting water. Only quiet. But I was not quite convinced the monster leech had disappeared. I could feel its presence, and I knew it was hiding and waiting for the opportune time to strike.

  Then, without warning, the parasitic beast leapt from the water once more hoping to snack on my blood. But this time I was ready. I swung my sword fast and hard, striking the leech at its middle and slicing it in two. Blood sprayed from the monster and splattered my face red. The two halves of the leech fell into the swamp and sank to the bottom. I stood for a moment with dark red blood oozing down my face and dripping into the water below. Once I was convinced that the danger was over, I sheathed my sword and continued my journey through the bog of sadness, my face still coated red with the monster’s blood.