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Stories from the Verse
A Dozen Verses
Chapter 150: Cooper 122
Table of Contents
Previous chapter: Slade 298
Barrelmaster ate bacon and oatmeal for breakfast. It was a tense meal as Yolanda was still upset at the failure of her plans, even if at the same time she was glad--for who would want to sacrifice themself to a dark spirit? Jack’s emotions were simpler. He was angry at his sister for her behavior, and worried about the upcoming Moot of the Free Men tomorrow. They were doomed. Brian wanted to help, but he had no idea how.
If he went with the Free Men to the Moot, he was certain to meet the few other sorcerers in the hills, and the multitude of others with magical knacks, and he firmly believed that magic was not of God. Plus, he was not a fan of No Hope Charges for Death and Glory. He rather agreed with Kirk in that there were no ‘no hope’ things like the Kobayashi Maru. Yet even if he did ride to his doom, he knew that life was more than the Earth, and he wanted to do it the right way. Riding to the Moot to knowingly fail, and to fight alongside sorcerers and hexers and curse throwers did not sound like a good plan to him.
Finishing his meal, he walked outside. If this were a computer project, he would say this was time to go back to the white board. Erase everything you had, and try again. Now, what were his resources? He had knowledge, the sword, the Mister Justice union suit, the dart gun, a friend who was named and had the job of Jack, two trustworthy hounds, an inertial gravity belt, and a glove given to him by the Lady of Venus.
He blinked. Actually, he was feeling pretty stout. It was not his usual way, but in desperate times, needs must, or as Sun Tzu had said ‘on death ground, fight’. Turning, he almost tripped over Tom who lay sprawled on his belly next to Sarah. Bending down to scratch their bellies, he asked for help.
“It is dangerous guys, but I wonder if you would do me a favor, and go get the Speaking Animal, the cougar in the area, to come and talk to me.” Tom and Sarah both barked in what only could sound like ‘yes’. They both bolted off into the woods, tails wagging, and he smiled to himself. Yes, asking hounds to find something or someone was playing to their strong suit. They loved that sort of thing. He prayed that the cougar would not injure them.
An hour later, a roaring voice summoned him and the others from the tree where he had been helping them sharpen spears. Walking outside, he saw the cougar, penned on both sides from ten yards away by the two hounds.
“I was tempted to gut the two, but I decided to be patient. What do you want?” The last was more of a shout and snarl than a question.
Cooper waved at the two dogs, who came over to him for pats.
“Thank you for coming. I need to get to the Festival as soon as I can, before the Moot meets.”
“You’re not supposed to tell--” Yolanda began.
“Kitten, I already know. I have ears that can hear, and not just what I want to hear, which is how stupid kittens get themselves into trouble. What madness possessed you to try to strike a deal with the Pool?”
Yolanda blushed. “Does everybody know?”
“A snake saw, and a chipmunk heard. They talked. Yes, the whole forest knows you’re an idiot.” At this Yolanda ran crying back into her tree-cabin.
“That was harsh, Cougar,” Cooper said mildly.
“Sometimes you have to shred a kitten’s ears with your claws to get them to listen.” The cougar yawned, clearly signaling that he had stated his opinion and that was that. “Now, if you need to go quickly, I can help. But do you have a plan?”
Cooper breathed in. “Uh, trust God.”
“Not a bad plan. OK, I’ll send someone your way.” He ran back into the woods, and an hour later a bull moose walked out of the woods.
“Master of barrels, friend of angels, I am Farwalker. I will take you to the Festival.”
Cooper began walking up to him, and Yolanda and the dogs came tearing out of the green bean patch downhill to run up to him, to hug him.
“Thank you for saving me,” she whispered, and then ran off. The hounds just laid down near him, and Jack came and wished him well with a handshake and a hug.
“I think you’re doomed, but so am I, so die bravely, my friend. Also, I think the hounds want to go with you.”
Cooper approached Farwalker, who bent his knees, and the man got on the bull moose, seven feet tall at the shoulder, who then rose to his feet. Tom said a doggy goodbye to Sarah, and led off. Soon, they were running, and Cooper had to dig his hands into the coarse fur of the moose to stay on the creature’s back. Uphill, downhill, across innumerable creeks, wading rivers, and once they swam across a pond, and hours passed. Only the miracle of being able to heal himself kept his bottom from giving out. Tom rode on Farwalker’s back in front of Cooper for much of the way, since despite his abundant stamina, the moose had more.
Noon passed and they kept on going. As early afternoon turned late, they came out of the tall hills and into rolling fields. Here they passed small villages without cars, even though they clearly had been designed for cars. Once, in the distance, he saw what might have been a white horse running parallel to them from several miles away, so brightly did it gleam in the sun that it was easily seen.
A few miles from their destination, Brian stopped and changed into his Mister Justice union suit. He was wearing the belt with the sword and the dart gun, and still had the glove on his left hand. Then he continued the last leg of the journey.
About four the trio came over a long hill, and looked down into a valley to see the Festival. Tents of all colors, white and silver trimmings, orange and brown likewise, green and blue, in size sufficient to hold hundreds each lay about a circular field roughly the size of a baseball field. Beyond them in circles were horses and wagons, oxen and carts, and there was a corral for what he assumed was the dinner, for all it had were pigs. Scenting the air was roast pig and potato, and on the far side he could see smoke rising blue to the clear heavens above.
Between the tents and the field were wooden stands filled with thousands of spectators, and in the middle of the field were two men in shining silver armor who were waling at each other with sword and mace. Already a plan began to form in his mind. This was the Festival of the Dying King. Perhaps the King was chosen by mastery of the fighting arts, and in that case, he just needed to beat everyone else, and become the King. From there, he would see what he could see.
There is a behind-the-writings look at the thoughts, influences, and ideas of this chapter, along with eleven other sequential chapters of this novel, in mark Joseph "young" web log entry #536: Character Confrontations. Given a moment, this link should take you directly to the section relevant to this chapter. It may contain spoilers of upcoming chapters.
As to the old stories that have long been here:
