Amanda Applewood and the Return of the False King: An Everworld Book

by Raymond Williamson

  Amanda turned with him and stared in amazement. “What’s that?” she exclaimed,

  “You can see him?” asked Papa.

  She nodded. A great smile spread across her face as it approached.

  “Curious,” he muttered.

  “Is it a fairy?”

  “No, Amanda. This is Otto. He’s a sprite.”

  The sprite bowed and extended his hand towards Amanda. She giggled as she shook it in the genteel manner of a little girl pretending to be a princess.

  “Otto? Why have you come?” he asked.

  The sprite, not much bigger than a squirrel and clad in a suit of golden leaves, knelt low to the farmer and held out a piece of folded parchment sealed with a glob of purple wax. Papa took the note and snapped the seal easily with his strong farmer’s grip. It read-

  “Your Eminence,

  I felt that as a sign of our family’s respect, I should send to you this note written by my own hand. There is no easy way for me to tell you that my father has passed just this hour.

  I know that he called you friend and I hope that I may call you friend also. I should hope that I might count on your support because I fear that my Uncle has conspired with some of the houses to keep me from my rightful place as Queen.

  I beseech you to attend me at once and serve as my counselor and protector until I am crowned.

  With great sadness,

  Windimere of Guillen

  Crown Princess of Tarsinia”

  Suddenly, the ground shook!

  Papa looked up; his eyes still clouded with the tears of sadness that accompanied the news of his dead friend. An ugly man wearing quilted leather armor and carrying a heavy studded club stood before him. He was as wide as a tractor and at least a head taller than Papa’s six-and-a-half-foot frame. A beautiful pale woman, clad all in flowing black stood beside him. She stared at the farmer contemptuously; her cold blue eyes sizing up the sturdy looking man in his plaid work coat and green John Deere ball cap.

  “Farmer!” she called, “Or can I you James?”

  He stepped forward, “Amanda, stay behind me,” he said firmly.

  She stepped behind Papa and tried to peer around him at the strangely dressed newcomers.

  He turned back. “Your Eminence would be more appropriate,” he said. “But that’s not likely now, is it?”

  She shook her head. “I’ve come to ask if you’ll support the new King of Tarsinia.”

  “I’m a bit confused. I thought that the next ruler of Tarsinia was to be a Queen.”

  “It doesn’t have to go this way,” she replied.

  “I’m afraid it does,” said Papa.

  “Take him, Gleb,” said Merga.

  Papa looked across the orchard towards the distant green and white house. He held his hand palm towards the sky and whispered, “Trevor.” He blew the word gently, and his call for help sped away to find his faithful hound.

  The giant strode towards him; his heavy steps made the ground quake. From behind him, the witch began to chant.

  “There’ll be none of that,” said the farmer. He spat into the air. The globule of chewing tobacco expanded to the size of a softball hung for a second and then, he pointed to the witch and said. “Go!”

  The sticky expectorant struck her in the face, interrupting her spell as it filled her mouth with tar. The force of the wad knocked her to the ground and began to expand over her like a blob of chocolate pudding.

  “Amanda, hide!” he shouted. She hesitated for a moment and then ran towards a tree. He watched as she fled to the hide behind the first tree he planted on his own when he’d been about her age. Next to it was a sapling, planted using one of its seeds on the day of Amanda’s birth.

  Gleb was upon him now, swinging his heavy club downwards towards James’ head. With the precision of an experienced fighter, Papa raised his arms crossed at the wrists to block the powerful attack. He muttered the word “stone,” and his forearms turned to granite just as the blow struck. Like a hammer to a stake, the impact drove him deep into the frozen ground to his knees. The giant drew back his weapon to strike again, but Papa was faster. He punched Gleb solidly in the stomach and then downward at his unarmored knee.

  He heard the crack of the giant’s bone and felt the shattering of stone as the impact vibrated up his arm. The giant screamed in pain, stepping back and shifting his weight to his good leg. Awkwardly, he swung his grim bludgeon at the wizard’s exposed side. Papa was forced to pull his left arm in tight to protect his ribs. The studded wood struck stone and the blow threw Papa high into the air. At seventy, he wasn’t as lithe as he’d once been and he landed heavily at the base of an ancient apple tree.

  Amanda screamed.

  He lay stunned, his body still resonating from his rough landing on the hard ground, his lungs fighting to suck in a breath. Gleb lurched towards him dragging his damaged leg; his weapon raised above his head. Just as the death blow was about to fall, the tiny sprite leapt through the air at the giant’s face, clawing and scratching at his eyes like an enraged cat.

  “Ger’off!” screamed the giant as he batted at his face with his free hand.

  The sprite was quicker and dodged the monster’s clumsy attempts to swat him away. He bit hard onto Gleb’s large leathery ear. The giant screamed in pain and shook his head violently. Otto swung back and forth like a ragdoll; holding tightly to handfuls of thick black hair until chunks of scalp tore free, launching him into the air.

  Gleb looked down at the prostrate wizard and leered like a hunter just before the kill. He lumbered towards the vulnerable man. As he reached down to pick up his club, a blur crashed into him and dug its fangs deep into his wrist. Trevor was determined and sat back on his haunches; digging his claws into the ground and pulling with the strength of a much bigger animal.

  Papa crawled to his knees. He was almost to his feet when a stream of flame, like a dragon’s fiery breath, engulfed him. He placed his palms together and reached into the flames like he was diving into water. He muttered a few words and the flames streamed past him on both sides like water around a boat cutting through a stormy sea.

  The witch sprayed the Hell-fire until the tree behind him was burned to ash. As the flames died, James managed to push the air towards her. The gust picked her up and threw her onto her backside. Papa rose slowly and staggered.

  Merga smiled wickedly. Before he could attack again, the witch scrambled to her feet and beams of silver electricity leapt from her fingertips towards the tree where Amanda was hiding. Muttering a defensive incantation, Papa leapt in front of the stream. He stood tall behind a bright green shield of light and marched towards Merga, leaning into the attack like he was fighting a strong wind. He heard the witch shout her spell louder pulling the bolts together into a single blinding flow of energy. Slowed but determined James struggled onward.

  Sweating profusely and drawing more magic than he’d ever drawn outside of Tarsinia, the wizard felt the strain begin to take its toll. He stopped. He held his ground for a moment to reach for more magic, but there was nothing left to draw upon. He slid back. He tried again and pushed back against the witches’ magic knowing that to fail was to die and his death meant Amanda’s death. He held his ground for a moment but could feel the magic slipping away. The fibers of his coat started to burn under the heat of the assault. He was defeated. He looked back towards his granddaughter thinking he’d failed her.

  The witch smiled in victory and channeled even more power. Just when she was certain the wizard was beaten, a bright blue shield appeared between them.

  “Enough!” shouted Nana from the edge of the orchard.

  She held an aged leather-bound book in front of her and was panting from the strain of running all the way from the house. She muttered a few words and several of the closest trees began to stretch like children waking from a long nap. As the spell expanded, more and more trees began to stir. The animated apple trees pulled their roots from the ground as they formed into thick rough le
gs. Gashes appeared in their trunks that formed into terrible mouths, filled with sharp wooden teeth.

  The army of trees roared and started towards Merga. She blasted the first tree with a bolt of lightning. It exploded, sending splinters in every direction. Before she could attack another, they were upon her. Strong hands made from their branches gripped her wrists. She fought with all her might as Nana’s warriors began to tear her apart. A second tree grabbed her waist, and she shrieked in pain. Before she could utter a word in her defense, another tree stuffed her mouth with leaves and wrapped its limbs over her face.

  Large battle-worn hands reached through the tangles and pulled the branches apart. Gleb ripped and tore, snapping branches with his powerful hands to separate Merga from the furious foliage. Trevor clung to his bloody calf as the giant freed the witch and carried her unconscious form away; fighting off the orchard with his club as they retreated.

  “Trevor! Come!” shouted Nana.

  The dog trotted back proudly, but as soon as he saw the fallen farmer with Amanda lying over him screaming, “Papa, get up! You have to get up!” he scrambled over and the loyal shepherd licked his master’s face and curled up against him protectively.

  “Let’s take care of those wounds old man,” said Tilly.

  She opened the book with a smile that turned quickly to dismay.

  She ran her fingers through Amanda’s fine hair and wiped away a tear with her thumb. She smiled warmly. “Sleep,” she said. “Sleep and forget.” Amanda yawned and curled up on the ground among the dry leaves.

  “It’s ok, Til, I know. I feel it,” said James. “I’ve led a good life. I won’t shrink away from death. Not after I’ve faced him so many times before.”

  “Who said anything about dying?” said Nana.

  She scanned around quickly and found what she was looking for. She picked up an apple bruised and rotting, ready to return to the land.

  “Breath on this,” she said.

  She muttered the incantation the book had revealed. Papa breathed his last breath and the apple transformed from rotten to ripe and then from ripe to new. A tear rolled down Nana’s face as she admired the most beautiful piece of fruit she’d ever seen.

  -----

  “Thank you, Jake,” said Nana to the farmer from next door who’d agreed to help out until she decided what to do with the orchard, to work it herself or lease it out.

  “I still don’t understand how so many trees got uprooted by that runaway tractor,” he said.

  “I don’t know either. Was there anything else?” she asked him in order to change the subject.

  “No, Ms. Applewood. The early spring is nice. You might want to get the fertilizer on order and get the hives set up sooner rather than later. Did you want me to take care of the details?” he looked awkwardly at her.

  “Thank you, Jake. If you wouldn’t mind. By the way, I’ll be gone again for a few weeks. I’ll leave you my credit card in case you need it,” she said.

  “You never told me where you keep disappearing to.”

  “No, no I didn’t,” she said warmly with a smile, deflecting his question for at least the fifth time.

  “Sure… I’ve got to get out to the barn and check on things. I’ll keep an eye on things for you.”

  “I know you will,” she said as she closed the door and slipped back inside.

  Nana retreated to her study to finalize things for Jake before she left again for Tarsinia. She wondered to herself why she continued to shuttle back and forth. She should just stay at Hightower Castle until Windimere consolidated her power. The constant entreaties to convince the houses to support the rightful heir were taking their toll, and she felt weary to her bones.

  She pondered over the lists and charts of inter-relationships, studying the familial lines and petty rivalries, trying to decide how to garner enough support for the Princess without starting a civil war. She reread a note that Otto had recently delivered, Rufus had departed Hightower Castle with his retainers and vanished.

  “There you are,” she said looking up, pulling her glasses down over her nose.

  A shadow of smoke solidified into the witch as she strode boldly into the room.

  “You look like hell. Didn’t you know that channeling that much of Tarsinia’s magic comes at a price,” said Nana to the withered hag now standing before her.

  “It’s only temporary,” said Merga. She glanced towards a thick leather-bound book that rested under glass on an ornate stand in the corner.

  “The Grimoire won’t help you,” said Nana. “Tarsinia only offers her magic to a select few, and you forced yourself upon her. Don’t expect she’ll return the life force she’s extracted from you.”

  “I don’t believe you,” said the witch. She lashed out at the old woman behind the desk. A whip of white energy sliced through the air, passing through Nana’s form and knocking the chair to one side as she vanished. A sudden vice of magic clamped around Merga and lifted her off of the floor. She floated out of the study, down the short hall into the kitchen where Nana was casually folding dough into crust for a pie.

  “Tst, Tst, Tst,” said Nana, “I could crush you like a bug but that would just bring me down to your level. I’ve even consulted with the book to see if there is some spell or other incantation I could use to put you out of my misery. The Grim, it seems, has other plans for you. So, let me tell you this. I might not be willing to kill you, but that doesn’t mean I won’t rough you up a little.”

  Nana muttered a few words and the clamp of force squeezed tighter like a constrictor on a mouse. She listened to Merga’s struggled breaths as her grip grew tighter and tighter. When she heard the first of the witches’ ribs crack she released her hold and let the hag fall to the floor.

  “For what you took from me, I am going to hurt you every time I see you,” she promised.

  Merga stared harshly at Nana. She’d always thought the farmer was the one to be wary of. She’d mistakenly never considered the wife to be as much of a threat.

  “Trevor, let’s see our guest out.”

  They left the house and set off along the trail to the covered bridge in the woods that led to Tarsinia. Each time the witch struggled; Nana prodded her with a magical slap across her bottom. Merga grunted at every strike but continued to whisper to herself quietly as they marched. At the end of the long lane, the green covered bridge across the deep ravine waited.

  “You’ll not cross this threshold again,” said Nana. “From this moment forward, the bridge will not let you pass. As its Guardian, I make this decree.”

  She shoved Merga onto to decking and prodded her with her boot, Trevor’s ferocious barking enforcing her orders.

  Suddenly, the witch turned and a blinding ball of light erupted from her hands.

  Nana reacted. In her mind, she pictured a mirror that reflected the attack back towards bridge. The collision of magics threw Nana and Trevor down the lane where they landed hard and tumbled roughly along the path coming to an abrupt stop. Her, when she struck her back against a tree. He, upside-down amongst a clump of bushes. Slowly, they rose to their feet and after collecting themselves, they carefully searched the ravine for the witch.

  “Oh my, I think I’ve killed her,” said Nana.

  Battered and bruised, they stumbled back to the house. The old woman poured herself a short whiskey from one of James’ favorite bottles and slumped down into her knitting chair by the cold fireplace.

  She sipped.

  She gasped.

  “Damn!” she said as a sharp pain flowed down her left arm and seized her chest.

  “Quickly Trevor! Get me the phone!”

  The blue dog scampered to the out-cove off of the kitchen and returned with the black model 500 telephone held tightly in his teeth. Nana dialed 9-1-1, and through ragged interrupted sentences requested an ambulance and then immediately called her son, Everett.

  “Hi Mom,” he said cheerfully. “I was going to call you later, is everything ok?”
<
br />   “About that. I think I’m having a heart attack. I’ve called the ambulance but if you…” she paused for a sharp pain in her chest and caught her breath.

  “I’m on my way! Don’t die! Promise me, don’t die!” He hung up.

  “You know what to do when he gets here, don’t you?” she said to Trevor.

  After a long moment to let the last bout of pain pass, she stumbled into her office, where she collapsed into the familiar desk-chair that had once belonged to her father. She collected a slip of monogrammed paper from a wooden box next to the blotter and scratched a hasty note. Her shaking hands made the words almost illegible, but this wasn’t the time to worry about her penmanship.

  Pausing between the sharp pains that were intensifying with each episode, she found her sewing box and dumped its contents on the floor. Lovingly, she took Papa’s apple from its perch on her desk and placed tenderly it in the box. She picked up a second apple, set it next to her husband’s and lay the note on top. She looked at the dog.

  “This is for Amanda when she’s old enough.” She breathed her last breath on the apple. After her lifeforce drained from her body into the apple, the lid to the box slammed shut and fell to the floor. Nana’s lifeless foot slipped and knocked it under the desk.

  The blue dog curled up at her feet and cried like a child.

  Uncle Everett

  Seven years later.

  Amanda and Sarah shifted about uncomfortably on the sticky pleather seats in the hot car as it crawled along the congested highway under the blistering July sun. Amanda watched her mother flick the switch back and forth on the long dead AC of their battered blue Subaru. She wiped the back of her arm across her sweaty forehead and dragged her limp hair off of her face.

  “Mom, why do we have to stay with Uncle Everett?” whined Sarah from the backseat.

  “I told you. I have an assignment and I'm gonna be away for a while,” replied El. She was a young-looking thirty-something brunette. Like the girls, she was all sweaty in her grey Save the Whales T-shirt and ripped denim shorts.