Epic Farm Boy

by Sam Ferguson

  “Finally, Lepkin rolled over a slain Tarthun and came up with a broken arrow in hand. He ducked under a powerful swing of Khelso’s greatsword and then lunged in, stabbing the arrow deep into the Tarthun’s neck. Thus it is that the great warlord’s son was slain by an arrow that was never strung.

  “After the battle, Lepkin returned to the monastery, weary and weaponless. His horse was slain, and the Tarthun horses evaded his attempts to capture them. The monks bandaged his wounds, and offered hot food and a warm bed to heal the mighty hero.

  “No one knows for sure how, for the monks all were fast asleep, but it is said that a mighty eagle came to the monastery that night, carrying a mighty sword in its beak.

  ‘“On the morrow, the Plague of Arrows shall rise against you,’ the great eagle said. ‘They shall arrive here before the fortnight is passed, and they will lay waste to this place, unless you stand against them. This sword is made of Telerian steel, and is enchanted with the breath of a dragon. Use this, and all foes shall fall before you.”’

  “The mighty hero took the enchanted blade and a great thunder rolled into the valley. Rains descended in such force that the dry river bed ran with fresh water again, and Lepkin stood outside the monastery, waiting for the warlord to arrive. The rains lasted for three nights and two days, turning the sands into sticky mud. Only the old road from the mountains remained traversable, and that is the path the Plague of Arrows used to find him.

  “On the morning of the third day, under the brilliance of a triple rainbow, the Tarthuns arrived with the warlord Gharmagul Keldroan at the front. The Plague of Arrows numbered three hundred strong, but Lepkin did not falter.

  “He took a new horse and rode out to meet the final threat, knowing that the king’s reinforcements were still at least a week away. The mighty hero let out a shout to the old gods and held the new blade out over his head. In charged the Plague of Arrows, raining their deadly missiles down upon him.

  “Lepkin called forth the blade’s enchantment and consumed all of the arrows in a wave of fire. Next he tore through scores of raiders with three swings of his terrible flaming sword. Men and horses alike fell screaming and screeching as Lepkin laid waste to them. He fought all the day long, deflecting arrows with fire while slicing through his foes. As the sun dropped below the horizon and the night took hold over the sky, the flaming sword’s brilliance drowned out the light of the moon and stars. The battle dragged on into the third day, with the army unable to pass beyond Lepkin. The mighty hero grew weary in body, but the gods granted him additional strength, that he might not fail his task.

  “Before the sun reached its apex in the mid-day sky upon the third day, Gharmagul Keldroan fell before Lepkin. The remnants of the warlord’s army turned to flee, but the mighty hero gave chase, cutting each and every one of the invaders down before they could reach the mountain pass.

  “From that day forward, the mere sight of Lepkin’s black sword would strike fear into the hearts of the unjust, and cause all of his foes to tremble and flee. The Tarthun tribes again split and fractured, and no more threatened the Middle Kingdom. The borders became safe, and tale of the end of the Plague of Arrows has been retold around fires, bedsides, and dinner tables throughout the Middle Kingdom even until this day.”

  Mulligan sat back and clapped his hands. “Well, what did you think?”

  Lucas and Arethel looked up. Arethel was sucking marshmallow goop from her fingers, and Lucas had graham cracker crumbs and melted chocolate on his chin.

  “Sufer goot!” Lucas exclaimed through a full mouth, crumbs spurting out onto the ground.

  “Mhm!” Arethel said with a nod.

  “I quite enjoyed it,” Simplin said. “Though I did see what you mean about the details. It almost reminded me of the old Paul Bunyan folk tales; just a bit too much to be believable, but still fun enough to be enjoyed, and possibly based somewhere on real events. I liked it.”

  “I have one,” Arethel said. “It’s one that my mother used to tell to me when I was a child. It’s my favorite.”

  “I don’t think you can tell one that will be as good as mine,” Mulligan said. “Mine was pretty epic.”

  “Please don’t challenge her,” Simplin said.

  Arethel shrugged. “Well, here, you take the roasting stick and be in charge of the mallows. I’ll tell my story. It’s not like we’re going anywhere tonight anyway. May as well have one more story.”

  “Let her tell it,” Lucas said between distastefully large bites of his smore. “I wanna hear another one.”

  “And then later I suppose you’ll want to go snipe hunting,” Simplin huffed.

  “What’s a snipe?” Mulligan asked with an arched brow. “Are they tasty?”

  “Oh yes, quite,” Simplin said with a wicked grin.

  “Quick too,” Arethel said. “I have never been able to catch them, on account of my near-sightedness of course.”

  Lucas looked to Simplin, biting his lower lip to keep from laughing.

  “Well, perhaps after the next story the two of you can go out together. See if you can both outsmart the snipes,” Simplin suggested.

  “That sounds perfect,” Mulligan said. “Smores and stories, followed by a night of hunting. It will do this old dwarf heart good!”

  “Well then, by all means, let’s hear the next story, but make it quick so you can hurry off after the snipes.”

  Arethel arranged herself on her stump and cleared her throat.

  “Deep in the heart of the lands of Doddakulderant, before the dawn of the Era of Kings, lived a young boy by the name of Khalfani. Khalfani loved his home on the savanna near the…”

  Simplin only half-listened as he allowed himself to drift off into a kind of day-dream. He mulled over the different parts of the plot he had memorized from the notes, and contemplated how best to go about working through the rest of his current story. All the while, Arethel continued with her story of some random boy journeying out into the vast wilderness, encountering different animals and finally learning the secret of happiness is to spend one’s time helping others.

  “The end,” Arethel said with a self-satisfied nod after what Simplin was certain was an entirely too long narrative, embellished with ridiculous feats of heroism.

  Simplin and Lucas were quiet, but Mulligan stood up, clapping enthusiastically. “It was wonderful, I loved it! What a great story!”

  “A bit on the simple side,” Simplin put in.

  “What do you mean?” Arethel asked.

  Simplin shrugged. “Well, it came across as a fable for children, not really something intended for consumption by an adult audience, that’s all. Perhaps you should have tailored it a bit more. You know, fit the story to your target market and all that.”

  “Well, I said it was a story my mother told me as a child, what did you expect?” Arethel asked.

  “More action,” Lucas commented through a yawn.

  “A bit more character development,” Simplin added.

  “Well, I like it, and I was telling it for me as much as any of you,” Arethel snapped.

  “I liked it,” Mulligan said yet again.

  “Good for you,” Arethel replied. The half-elf then turned and pointed a finger at the wizard. “Listen here, Simplin the Wise, you keep talking about all these strange terms like ‘target audiences,’ ‘character development,’ and other nonsense. What are you hiding?”

  “Hiding?” Simplin asked in a huff. “I’m not hiding anything.”

  “He also talks to a great Author in the sky, and has a book that is supposed to tell us how to live our lives to finish the adventure properly,” Lucas put in.

  “Spill it!” Arethel demanded. “I want to know the truth!”

  “This is coming from someone who knew about the sword in a stone before I even told her,” Simplin said with a smirk. “You know what I’m talking about.”

  “No, I don’t!” Arethel replied. “I know about it, because one of my informants told me all about you,
and your mission.”

  “Ugh,” Simplin said. “I hate it when authors use random characters as devices for driving plot elements forward, or as crutches to get other secondary characters invested in the story. It’s so much better if the relationship develops in a genuine way!”

  “What do you mean? Who is a secondary character?” Mulligan put in.

  Simplin turned to Mulligan and shook his head. “Look, you’re the stout dwarf, provided in the story not only for the use of your potion, so Lucas has an interest in maintaining his current course, but also for comedic relief. I mean, who ever heard of a dwarf that can’t fight?”

  “I can to fight!” Mulligan shouted.

  “That’s why you punched your brother and then promptly slipped on a banana peel back at the tavern,” Simplin said.

  “Hey, that didn’t happen!” Mulligan shouted.

  “Yes it did, it just happened off screen and the author expects the reader to pick up on it.”

  “Well, fine, but that’s only one mistake,” Mulligan huffed.

  “Then back with the gnomes,” Lucas put in.

  “Well, yeah, but… argh! Just shut up!” Mulligan said.

  “And what am I?” Arethel asked.

  Simplin shrugged. “Plot filler, I guess, or something.”

  “So, let me get this straight,” Lucas interjected. “We are all characters, in a story, is that what you’re saying?”

  “Well, yes, that’s what I told you before when I showed you the plot notes,” Simplin said.

  “No, that isn’t exactly how you put it,” Lucas said with a shake of his head. “I mean, you want me to believe that everything we have gone through is just being made up, right now, by some author, but he isn’t a god?”

  “Well, sort of,” Simplin said. “Listen, I probably shouldn’t even be telling you this, but if you really have to know, then that’s the truth.”

  “Simplin,” a voice called out over the land. “What do you think you’re doing?”

  “Hi Jack,” Simplin said with a wave. “I couldn’t help it, they asked.”

  “You could have lied,” Jack said.

  Arethel jumped up. “It’s the mighty author!” She twirled around, looking for the source of the voice.

  Tap-tap-tap.

  Arethel looked up and saw an enormous face staring down at her from the sky. “AAAHH!” she screamed.

  “Listen, all of you,” Jack said. “I need you to just keep working through this as best you can, okay? Let’s just forget about this conversation and press forward, all right?”

  “But why?” Lucas asked. “I mean, you can do anything right? So, how about you kill the bad guy, give me back my one true love, and send us all home?”

  “It doesn’t work like that!” Simplin cut in. “There has to be character growth, development, conflict, intrigue, and then, after we have all suffered a whole stinky bunch, we can get a happy ending!”

  “Suffered a what?” Arethel said as she wrinkled her nose. “I’m not going to get stinky.”

  “I want you all to listen to Simplin, he’ll explain it, and then we need to press forward, okay guys?” Jack said.

  Lucas shook his head. “No way, you fix it all if you’re so powerful! Come on, why’d you let those mercenaries shoot Liriel?”

  Simplin reached out and grabbed Jack by the shoulders. “Listen, I know it hurts. I know there is an anger inside you, but that’s how we grow. We get kicked, hurt, kidnapped, maybe even lose an arm or something, but it will work out.”

  “How do you know?” Lucas scoffed. “He could be up there about to squash us all like bugs!”

  “No, listen, all of you! Jack is a good author. I mean, he isn’t legendary or anything, but he is good!”

  “I heard that,” Jack said.

  Simplin ignored him and continued. “I have known Jack for twenty years. In two decades, I have seen the kinds of stories he writes. They have evolved and become good. He’s not sadistic about killing his characters off like some fantasy authors that are out there, and he isn’t super wordy and verbose either, so none of his books hit the two-thousand page mark.”

  “Meaning what, exactly?” Arethel asked.

  “Meaning, we are more than two thirds of the way through the book, so we are almost to the happy ending part.”

  “How do you know that?” Lucas asked.

  “Because,” Simplin said with a shrug. “I can see the word count at the bottom of the screen. We’re over the hump people, I’m telling you. You just have to keep moving.” Simplin stopped and stroked his beard. “Of course, that also means the hardest challenges are coming up pretty quickly too,” he said.

  “Great,” Mulligan cried. “We’re all dead. What’s the point?” The dwarf fell back and sprawled out on the ground. He pulled a feather from his pocket, and held it over his mouth.

  “Mulligan, what are you doing?” Simplin asked.

  “I’m a character without a purpose,” Mulligan replied. “So, I’m going to try to keep this feather in the air by blowing on it.” Simplin stopped and stared as Mulligan began to play a game with the feather, entirely ignoring everything else around him.

  “I did not expect that,” Simplin said.

  “He gets depressed sometimes,” Arethel said. “My informant told me that the feather helps him ground himself.”

  Simplin nodded blankly. “Look, Jack won’t kill us. He might maim someone, but he won’t kill us.”

  “Wait, who is getting maimed?” Lucas asked with a hand to the air. “I like my limbs, all of them. I don’t want to be walking around with a wooden leg or reaching for my ale with a hook instead of a hand, got it?”

  Simplin patted the air. “Calm down. Listen, I have seen Jack’s writing. I mean, even just recently I was shown another world with a great wizard… well, sort of great, if you like that kind of thing, named Beven. This Beven was caught by a deadly army, and all seemed lost, but then Jack was able to use Beven’s magic to tunnel out of an entire mountain and help Beven escape unharmed! Also there are at least thirty seven other unfinished stories lying around on the author’s computer…”

  “Com-pew-ter?” Lucas asked.

  “Think of it as our universe,” Simplin said with a shrug. “It’s where all the worlds and stories reside. In addition to the unfinished manuscripts, there are at least two dozen finished stories that all ended more or less happily. In fact, in the last several years, characters have even received names much more often—”

  “Don’t all characters get names?” Lucas asked.

  Simplin shook his head. “No, just think of those two men who were talking with the Merc Work Inc. bookie. Neither of them had names, and even the bookie was only called ‘bookie’ without any proper name.”

  “Oh, good point,” Lucas said with a nod.

  “As I was saying, the author really has learned some restraint! I remember a time when an entire crew of highly skilled elf soldiers went down in matter of pages. Just when I thought they had done enough work to finally warrant earning a name, BAM—all dead! But now, even those that die get names, and only the occasional main character gets his or her head lopped off. It really is different now.”

  “So, the faster we progress to the end, the faster Liriel will be resurrected,” Lucas commented.

  Simplin nodded. “And the better we develop our character arcs, the faster we can progress to the end.”

  “Character development,” Lucas said with a nod.

  “And we have to get the vital items, like the sword in a stone,” Simplin pointed out.

  “This is ridiculous,” Arethel shouted. “I don’t know what kind of sick, sadistic game you are playing, but I am not going to listen to any more foolishness.”

  “It isn’t a game,” Simplin said.

  “It’s a book,” Lucas said with an understanding nod while placing a finger to his nose.

  “Whatever, I am not going to fall for any stupid jokes,” Arethel said. “I’m going out to look for that sn
ipe, and when I catch him, I’m not sharing any of it with the three of you!”

  Lucas blew through his lips and had to slap a hand over his mouth to keep from laughing.

  “What, you don’t think I can do it?” Arethel jumped up to her feet. “Well, I will. I will get that snipe and bring it back if it takes all night!”

  “It might,” Simplin said with a laugh.

  “Oh!” Arethel snarled. “That’s it!”

  She stomped off, but Mulligan was quick to follow, letting his feather float to the ground. “I’m coming too, I want to help!”

  “Well, I think we can safely sleep knowing that Arethel and Mulligan are out on patrol, keeping us safe from the snipes,” Simplin cackled.

  Lucas burst into laughter.

  “Shut up!” Arethel shouted as she disappeared into the night.

  CHAPTER 13

  Needless to say, Arethel and Mulligan spent the entire night out hunting snipes, with absolutely no success. Simplin couldn’t have been happier though, because it also meant that both of them were too tired to talk very much as they made their way northward to Skull Cave, the place that Arethel was sure they needed to get to in order to find the sword in the stone. They went through another very long walking montage that took roughly six days, putting them within only two hundred miles of the Dark Tower, their final destination wherein they would find Skidmark the Brown.

  The group made it to a large cavern, and discovered that it was appropriately named, as there were several holes in a head-shaped protrusion of rock that did, in fact, resemble a skull.

  “This is where Lucas has to go in alone,” Mulligan said.

  “I didn’t see that in the outline anywhere before the author took it,” Simplin countered.

  “The hero always does this part alone,” Arethel explained. “It’s the moment they discover that everything they have been through has been leading up to this one, grand, epic moment of awesomeness.”

  “Yeah, well, I have been through a fair amount myself, and I am not about to sit outside the cave while Lucas goes inside. I’m going in.”