A Tale Of Doings

by Philip Quense

  “God on high…Neither of you have been camping?”

  “No idea what that is,” they answered in unison.

  “Hiked a mountain?”

  “No way,” they answered again.

  “Swam in the ocean?” Patrick looked at them like they were wounded puppies.

  “Don’t look at us like that. We have plenty of amazing things here,” David said, not believing himself.

  “Well, since we are becoming friends…If you ever come to Tri-Coalition, I will take you both camping, sleeping under the stars in hammocks, cooking on a fire, in the middle of nowhere…”

  “I’d like that,” Gayle immediately said.

  “Please, no. Sounds horrible,” David said; he looked at Gayle. “Agree to fight later?” She smirked at him as if to say, “You’ll come around.”

  The dirt highway turned to cobblestone, and the horses’ hooves clacked their way over a double-cart-width bridge, a dry streambed under them. Arrod warned the group, “Should see the Sand Swamp bridge soon and then only a thirty-minute canter to Marketown along the King’s Highway. About an hour at our pace.” The Sand Swamp was connected to the Laquid River up north and the Southern Ocean in the south. The excitement built. Shortly, the outlying farmsteads and diverging roads would come into view. David was scared about what would happen when they exited the bubble to face Grandpa Greg, but his excitement about being in this fantasyland filled him with energy.

  Five minutes later, the group’s horses trotted casually around a winding, rising curve in the cobblestone path on the outskirts of the Merlin Woods track, entering a lush green field of corn and a hill with rows of knotted apple trees. Beyond the fields they could see groupings of trees and then a more desertlike scene. The tour guides pointed out Alexorian signs on the King’s Highway that indicated the market’s land, a place of deserts and rolling sand dunes that stretched out beyond the green lushness of the farms, hills, and forest. The desert beyond Marketown was a harsh environment, and few people from the main kingdom attempted to settle down within its dusty, desolate confines. The town rested on the cliffs above the Western Ocean.

  The metal tack on the tour horses jingled as the group meandered into a cluster of trees large enough to be a small forest. The wooden produce carts bumped as they rolled over the narrow cobblestone road. The escorts whistled and pointed out private observations to one another. No one suspected any danger on such a bright magical day. The horses casually followed the path around a tangle of intertwined oak trees and up a bend.

  Gayle saw the woman first. She stood in front of a small cottage that was nestled on the hill overlooking the road. The cottage was tucked back under the imposing branches of an aging oak tree. The local was shouting for aid. “Help, help!” she screamed in a throaty, panicked voice.

  Gayle pointed her out. “Arrod, look. A woman in need on that hill!” The group looked toward the cottage. It was true. The woman, perhaps in her thirties, had short brown hair and a blue apron. She appeared to be trapped under some sort of large farming contraption, screaming in pain. “We must help her,” Gayle insisted.

  “Keep on riding,” Arrod said gruffly. “No interfering with the happenings while on a touring trip. Dwells take care of themselves.”

  “Shouldn’t we stop and see what is wrong?” Patrick asked with a sense of urgency.

  The three guards looked at one another. They exchanged an annoyed glance. Bitt reiterated his team leader’s statement. “Don’t interfere with what goes on in Storyworld when on tours. Strictly against corporate policy. The liability is too great.”

  David thought, This is very similar to when I saw the woman getting abused in the alley before the vicious canine attacked me. So he added his expertise, “Better not to interfere when injustice is afoot. Righting wrongs is not the layman’s department or responsibility. Only harm follows helping.” David was nervous around tense situations. A lack of control. “Gayle, we’d better listen to our guides.” He smiled apologetically toward Bitt and Arrod. “Still learning how to handle ourselves in this strange world. Lead on.”

  Gayle ignored David’s sound advice. “My rear end hurts,” she said unexpectedly in a nonchalant tone. “Gonna take a break.” She jumped off her horse.

  “Damn privileged women,” Arrod cursed.

  “Oops, I fell off my horse as well,” Patrick said as he followed suite. He nodded toward Gayle, coconspirators in their stubbornness.

  “Screw the market,” Britt cursed. “Fine.”

  “We should tie them to their horses on these expeditions,” the nameless escort said, scratching his bushy beard in exasperation.

  Patrick ignored the comments and reached for a carrot from the wagon, wiping it on his pant leg as he began to munch. He held out an escorting arm for Gayle, and they started walking up the hill.

  “Maybe we should stick with the rules and follow the plan.” David choked on his words when Gayle glared at him with a stern “Are you kidding me?” look. With exaggerated effort, David slid off his horse and went to the cart for some water and a snack while he waited to see what would happen when Gayle reached the woman screaming for help. He watched their escorts to see how they would respond. The guards began to look around defensively and fidget with their weapons.

  “Keep an eye out for anything out of the ordinary,” Arrod directed his men. “Bitt, circle around the property to make sure the area is secure. Let’s get this fixed and move out of here in ten minutes.” Bitt kicked his horse and disappeared at a gallop down the trail. The others loosened their plain brown farmers’ robes to expose their hidden short swords. The swords gleamed menacingly as the light from the sun hit the sharp metal surfaces.

  David gulped. Weapons seem more menacing in person. He remembered his conversation with Patrick and Gayle. Dead is dead, even if it’s entertainment.

  Arrod signaled. “Stay with the animals, David,” he ordered in his self-assured, commanding tone. There was no arguing with him. David was a rule follower. It’s the safest path to lasting comfort. Never stick your neck out. The two men followed David’s companions up the grassy slope toward the woman trapped near the cottage.

  “Might as well enjoy the respite.” Glaring ruefully at his horse, David stretched his sore butt muscles. “Falling off you really hurt,” he told the horse. David sat in the back of the cart and put his head down on a fluffy-looking sack. The sack was not soft. What is in this bag, rocks? He glared at the bag, annoyed. The sun shone overhead and warmed his skin. Relaxing felt wrong. It’s been a long time since I stopped and enjoyed the embrace of the sun. He sat back and ate the dried beef and crunched a tender carrot in his mouth. He savored the salty-sweet combination. “I could get used to a farmer’s life,” he preached to the horses. The horses chose to ignore him and put their greedy mouths into the tall grass beside the trail. They chewed and spat and chewed and spat. “Bunch of grass-cutting machines. Fine, be about your doing.” He closed his eyes and soaked up the sun. Gayle’s voice echoed from the hill. David smiled at the sound. She’s strange, but her voice inspires me. He loved listening to her. Her voice was soft, strong, and caring.

  “Hello, miss. May we be of assistance? Get that plow thing off your leg?” David looked up and saw the plow-like device being lifted off the blue-aproned woman. The men hoisted the plow onto a cart that was next to the front door. Gayle reached for the woman’s arms and pulled her gently to her feet.

  “Thank the Creator for kind people,” the freed person said in a squeaky, grateful voice. The woman picked up a fallen white shawl, shaking off the dirt, and placed it around her shoulders.

  Gayle held the woman’s arms, asking in a supportive voice, “Are you injured?”

  A whiny dog barked somewhere nearby. David thought the dog must be in the cottage. “My husband left for the day and never put away that contraption he was fixing to sell at the market next week. I figured I’d move me cart a tad so I could sit on my stoop. The thing toppled on top of me.”

  �
�Any damage to your leg?” Patrick asked, concerned.

  “No harm, it seems. Just a bruised ego,” the woman replied.

  “Time to be on our way,” Arrod commanded. Apparently he was finished with helping strangers.

  “Oh, nonsense, nonsense. Please come inside for a bite of my banana bread. I cooked it this morning, and it’s fresh. The least I can do.”

  “Bring me a piece!” He had heard of such bread, so David yelled. Bananas combined with bread—odd. Oh, his club mates would be jealous.

  “You didn’t help at all,” Gayle shouted back at him in a cheerful tone.

  “Watching the horses,” David countered. “Fearlessly, I might add.”

  “Oh, come on.” Patrick pounded Arrod on the back. “Two minutes of banana bread never toppled any kingdoms.”

  “Two minutes have certainly been enough to get someone fired. But all right.” Arrod caved.

  “The customer’s always right,” Gayle reminded their guides, sarcastically. The group followed the blue apron inside.

  The dog barked again. It sounded more sinister to David—of course, he had bad experiences with dogs. The bite marks on his arm were scarring. The cottage door shut just as David noticed a commotion in the woods behind the cottage. He squinted to make sense of what was happening.

  Cold steel touched his throat.

  “Don’t budge an inch, or I’ll cut your neck.” David gulped as a razor-sharp edge scratched along his Adam’s apple. “Who are you?” the voice with the blade demanded. David froze midchew; carrots dribbled down out of his open mouth. He raised his hands to signal compliance. His heart pounded in his chest.

  “Just travelers going to market. Carrots to sell…” David pointed to the cottage. “Companions helped the woman who lives here. ’Twas trapped under that farming plow. Inside and will return shortly. We mean no harm.” His voice warbled in fear.

  “Don’t make a sound, and you live,” the voice promised. David felt the muscled arm behind him relax, and the silver knife blade moved away from his neck. David turned cautiously to see his captor.

  “Knight Phel!” he gasped in amazement and shock; his fear evaporated as he took in the disheveled figure of his favorite hero.

  “Not a knight. I lost that honor when I betrayed my king and my country.” The disheartened warrior wore a familiar battered suit of armor, with the fading image of a sun stamped into the chest. The cut from Mark’s cruel dagger, branding Phel a traitor to the Moonz, was swollen with dried blood. Phel seemed to have left it to rot, uncaring. David recognized the armor from the last episode of Medieval Storyworld. Phel’s face was covered in unruly stubble. His eyes were red and tired. He looked like a man on the run from the law. “How do you know my name?” The bloodshot, hawklike eyes squinted in suspicion.

  David didn’t know what to say. Dwellers don’t know they are being watched. David looked around at the trees and forest. The leaves were real. The grass was real. The forest path was real. The cabin on the hill was real. It all seemed so complete. This is the only reality they know, David thought quickly. I can’t explain to Phel that he’s a hero and the center of my favorite plot in the Kingdom Series. I can’t say that I have watched this knight’s journey. Instead of saying anything, he held out some dried beef and a carrot. Phel grabbed the food hungrily but didn’t stop looking around as he tore at it. Blue eyes piercing and restless. He looked beyond the cart toward the cottage.

  “Is that your man yonder?” He pointed to a location beyond the cottage. It was the same spot that David had seen some sort of commotion.

  Squinting, David looked at the spot to see one of his guides. Bitt stumbled out of the woods twenty paces from the cottage and toppled over. A dark black blade protruded from the back of his twitching body. Twitch. Shudder. Then he went still. David gasped and almost screamed. Phel’s boot connected with David’s leg with a thud, knocking him behind the wagon. David clamped his jaw shut, stifling the surprise. The serene landscape with the long green spring grass, the white stone cottage, and the tall, majestic oak trees turned into a scene of horror. Two intruders in black cloaks ran from the woods past Bitt’s dead body. One figure paused long enough to yank the killing blade out of the guard.

  The door of the cottage burst open, shuddering on its rusty hinges. Phel and David watched from behind the horses, crouched low. The brown mare nearest to David shat. The smell was dank and putrid. Phel motioned for David to remain silent and observe.

  Arrod filled the cottage’s doorframe with his bulky form and then toppled forward as another darkly cloaked person kicked him out of the opening with a forceful blow. David gulped down his shock and fear. A crimson line was smeared across Arrod’s throat, his mouth gasping for air before screaming a gurgling screech; then he died. A cloaked woman emerged next; her mask hung loose on her shoulder. Smirking fiercely with pleasure, a ball of bright red hair tied into a bun reflecting the sun; she dragged a tightly bound Gayle behind her.

  The cloaked attacker yelled into the cabin, “Warn thy friends that all must fear the slaver of the darkness.” He kicked at the wooden door. It rocked again on its hinges, almost breaking loose from the frame. “Slavery has come to this land.”

  “We must help,” David grunted to Phel through clenched teeth. David jumped up and began to run toward the cabin.

  “Fool,” Phel hissed, tripping David before he made it clear of the cover of the horses.

  David banged his face on a rock. Warm, slick liquid oozed over his eyes. A horse screamed at the commotion. Hooves flashed past David’s head as he stood, dazed. Grunting, Phel grabbed the back of David’s tunic and pulled him like a sack onto the nearest horse.

  David waved toward the captured Gayle. “We must stop them!”

  Despite his protestations, he was trundled onto the horse like a child. The tired knight was a lot stronger than he looked.

  An arrow flew past the horse’s head and embedded itself with a dull hollow thunk into the second horse. The struck horse reared and kicked the cart over. Carrots spilled onto the road.

  “Stop moving. Nothin’ I can do against four slavers. Nothin’ you can do.” The truth hurt. The slavers had the advantage and the numbers. Screaming rage, Phel kicked the horse. “They’ll slaughter us if we don’t flee. They will make us both slaves.” He kicked his horse again, and they dashed away from the whizzing and thunking arrows.

  From his sack-like position on the horse, David looked back. Two of the cloaked figures were kneeling and launching arrows from short bows. The third was leading a horse from around the house. Gayle was being dragged toward the horse by the redheaded woman.

  “You fools!” Gayle screamed in defiance, but she was slapped hard for her outburst. She fell to her knees.

  Shortly the trees covered his view of the cottage. David groaned in despair, clinging to the warrior and saddle lest he break his neck in a fall from the tall horse. He needed to find a way to make this knight turn around and help him rescue his friends.

  “Stop. We have to free her and Patrick.” The horse thudded onward. “If he’s alive,” David said more to himself. Rocks and mud flew from the steed’s pounding hooves as the horse careened through the dense foliage and over a narrow streambed.

  “Silence.” A gauntleted slap. Phel’s voice sounded raspy as the movement and wind whipped the sound away from him.

  “They have Jillian Maltese,” David lied. The horse came to an abrupt halt, and David was thrown to the ground.

  “By the light!”

  “You threw me!” he wheezed when he was able to stand. Twice in one day.

  Phel leaped off his horse and punched David. “You said what?”

  “The slavers. They have Jillian.”

  “How do you know this? And how do you know who Jillian is?” David hadn’t expect the sudden anger, but he was willing to do whatever it took to get to Gayle and get out of this dangerous world.

  “I heard from some merchants talking on the road about a Moonz warrior leader
named Jillian who betrayed Lord Meldz and was tricked and sold to the slavers.” David felt his lie falling out from under him, but he didn’t stop. “I also heard she let a rogue Sonz warrior live in her village and that she and her betrothed were responsible for helping him escape the grasp of Lord Meldz.” David did not know how to lie without sounding like a stalker or spy himself. He thought it could be possible, the story he wove. The latest episodes had a furious Lord Meldz. He walked a fine and dangerous line with his words. But the adrenaline of the moment hid the unreasonable bits of his made-up story.

  “Meldz!” Phel growled, pushing David onto his ass. “That devil would do something like that. He already set up Drane. Jillian was next.”

  David held his breath, not saying anymore.

  The outcast warrior, with the bleeding mark of disgrace, said, “We’ll find this place of the slavers, strange farmer. And if you are lying, I vow by the light and the moon to hand you over to the slavers myself for whatever gold they’ll give me.” And it was settled.

  Chapter 42

  Two Worlds

  Hours later a fierce campfire crackled and popped, flames licking upward toward the forest canopy. David stared at the flames in fascination. “Camping?” He thought of Patrick.

  “Strangest farmer I’ve ever met.” Phel looked at him askance but was occupied with his planning. He had devised a plan to sneak back into the cottage and find any clues they could. “Add more wood already.” His oversize beacon would hopefully draw any slavers still in the area toward it while David and Phel hiked the quarter of a mile back toward the cottage.

  The moon came out, wispy clouds moving aside so it could shine brightly. The trees above the two men formed dark, creaking silhouettes. The damp leaves, soaked with dew, muffled their footsteps. The time was here, and David’s brand and heart began to pump.

  “What in the light’s name and the bastard in abyss is that?” Phel said, reaching and grasping onto David’s chest. The fingers gripped his shirt and tightened into a fist, stopping David in his tracks.