The Mother of Zuul: Humorous Fantasy (Epic Fallacy Book 4)

by Michael James Ploof

  Akitla stood grinning down on them and blew on her misting fingers. “And that, is how we do it in Shivermoore.”

  Murland came rushing toward them and skidded to a stop, looking with awe at the melting ice chute that was floating down the river. “That was amazing!” he said, grinning at them all.

  Just then Willow dropped from the sky snoring, an exhausted Packy draped over her shoulders.

  “Willow!” Gibrig cried. “She made it!”

  “Count our good fortunes later,” said Sir Eldrick, pointing to the south. “They’re going to be looking for us. Come on.”

  Chapter 9

  A Visit from an Old Friend Foe

  “I can’t believe this is my honeymoon!” said Brannon as he waited for Sir Eldrick to relieve himself.

  “Shh!” hissed the knight as he glanced up at the forest canopy.

  Searchlights had been sweeping the forest for two hours, and more than once Atlas had crossed overhead, its shadow looming like a mythical beast of prey.

  Sir Eldrick finished and joined the others.

  “Murland, is there any way that you can get me a message to Valkimir?” said Brannon.

  “Perhaps, but not while we’re on the run like this,” said Murland.

  “Why the hells not?”

  “Shut up,” said Sir Eldrick, turning and clapping his hand over Brannon’s mouth.

  Brannon’s eyes widened dangerously.

  “Look, your husband’s worry is not our problem right now. Okay, sweetheart?”

  He removed his hand, and Brannon spat. “I do hope that you washed your hands after you peed.”

  “Nah,” said Sir Eldrick. “I washed them before I peed. Come on.”

  The forest that they ventured through was not like any others found in Fallacetine, for it was an elven forest, and said to be the most ancient in all the lands. The tall trees had thick, knotted roots, which in some places bunched together to create great knots that had to be climbed over like boulders. And in some of these knots, natural hollows were formed. Brannon knew how to find such hollows, as did any elf of Halala, and he led them to one that was big enough to house them all fairly comfortably. With the last bit of energy that he had, he walled them in with a thick bunch of roots before laying his head in exhaustion.

  “Won’t them sorcerers be able to find us no matter where we hide?” said Gibrig in the dark.

  “I thought so,” said Murland. “But they flew over us how many times without noticing?”

  “Surely it is a simple thing for anyone of any magical aptitude,” said Sir Eldrick.

  “Maybe it’s the wards that Hinckley put on me before I left. That makes more sense than them not knowing any tracking spells, or how to scry.”

  “Well then,” said Sir Eldrick. “That makes more sense. We should all follow Willow and Brannon’s lead. I imagine that they will be searching for us all day. So, everyone try to get comfortable.”

  Murland curled his tail around Caressa, he was quite comfortable with her in his arms, and he fell asleep easily to the soft sound of her breathing and the warmth of her body.

  Murland awoke to find that it was no longer dark, and someone had removed the vines from the doorway. A quick glance around told him that he and Caressa were alone. He heard voices outside and was relieved to recognize them as Brannon’s and Willow’s.

  “Wake up, babe,” said Murland, kissing Caressa on the cheek.

  She stirred slowly, smiling and blinking at him sleepily.

  “You’re staring,” she said.

  “I am?”

  “Yup, and you have dragon breath.”

  He backed up and breathed into his hand before sniffing. “I don’t smell anything,” he said, grinning. “Maybe it’s your breath blowing back in your face.”

  She punched him in the shoulder, laughing.

  “If you two love birds are up, it’s time to get going,” said Sir Eldrick from the entrance to the hollow.

  Murland emerged stiffly and stretched. “Where’s Atlas?” he said, trying to see through the canopy.

  “Not sure,” said Sir Eldrick. “They may have given up. Then again, they might be lying in wait.”

  “They’re probably gone. There’s a show scheduled for tonight in Magestra,” said Caressa.

  “Well, either way, I’m going home,” said Brannon. “I’ve a honeymoon to go on.”

  Suddenly a shadow passed over them, and Murland instinctively went for his wand. Sir Eldrick unsheathed his fae blade as the shadow, which had just been a phantom in the corner of Murland’s vision, now circled them. The hissing voice of a darkling found their minds.

  “Foolsss, you are all foolsss…”

  Akitla’s hands frosted over, and two long ice shards shrieked into existence. Caressa unsheathed her sword as Willow smacked her club against her palm.

  “It be a darkling!” said Gibrig, lowering his shield and smiling at the others.

  The shadow stopped before them and the mist pooled into a form—the form of a wizard.

  “Kazimir,” Murland breathed.

  “Oh great,” said Brannon, seemingly more agitated than afraid.

  “Well aren’t you a sight for a sore ass!” said Kazimir, leaning on his staff. His body was translucent, and his eyes glowed with mystical power.

  “But darklings can’t be going out in the day,” said Gibrig.

  “Yes, we’ll I’m no regular darkling, now am I?”

  “I suppose that you have come for your revenge,” said Sir Eldrick, holding his fae blade up and ready.

  “Revenge? Oh, yes, that would be nice. You bunch of morons really screwed me over good. Bravo, by the way, now there is a giant gaping portal to an unknown realm on top of Bad Mountain. I should rip out all of your souls and shove them up your asses, but alas, revenge must wait.”

  “If it is not revenge that you seek, then what?” said Sir Eldrick.

  “As stupid as you are brave, aren’t you?” said Kazimir, and he glanced around at them all, waiting. “Idiots, I want my godsdamned body back. And you’re going to get it.”

  Brannon scoffed. “Why in the world would we do that?”

  “Because if you don’t, I will eat your souls. And besides that, I must stop Witch Hazel before she does any more damage.”

  “Witch whozle?” said Willow.

  “Witch Hazel, you buffoon!” said Kazimir.

  Willow nudged Gibrig. “I know a Hazel Butterburr, and a Hazel Toadly. But which Hazel do you think he’s talking about?”

  Gibrig stared at her, dumbfounded, but then he laughed suddenly. “Oh, I get it.”

  “Fools!” said Kazimir and hit them both with a shockwave that knocked them back ten feet.

  They got up, groaning—and in Willow’s case, giggling—and Kazimir pointed a long, shaking finger at them. “For once in your lives, you idiots need to stop screwing around!”

  “Who is Witch Hazel?” said Murland. “And why must she be stopped?”

  “Hazel is my ex-wife. Well, not really. I left her at the altar. I should have never trusted her with Zuul, but I had no choice, what with having to deal with you idiots.”

  “Zuul?” said Murland, a chill scuttling down his spine.

  “What are you, a parrot?” said Kazimir. “Yes, Zuul. That sneaky bastard Zorromon poisoned Zuul by poisoning himself before being eaten. I needed a witch well versed in poisons, and so I called upon my ex and left the ailing Zuul in her care. Now, she has become drunk with power, and soon she will strike.”

  “Strike who?” said Gibrig, his voice shaky.

  “Everyone!” Kazimir yelled, startling them all.

  “And isn’t it convenient that only you can stop Witch Hazel,” said Brannon, rolling his eyes. “You are so full of shit!”

  “I have always acted for the good of all, you arrogant little shit. It was I who held Drak’Noir at bay these last two centuries. It was I who learned how to close the portal when the denizens of hell tried to open a doorway into our world. And
it was I who took control of the Dark Lord reborn when he arose. All that you fools did was risk the lives of everyone in Fallacetine to save your own asses, and now you have left the portal wide open! Think what you want about me, but I have been the guardian of this realm for two hundred years.”

  “How do we know that you aren’t working with Witch Hazel?” said Willow. “You said she was your sweetheart once.”

  “Hazel is trying to kill my body,” said Kazimir with all seriousness. “Surely Murland has heard of the attempted break-ins at Azkatraz?”

  They all looked to Murland, and he thought back, nodding. “Yes, I remember Hinckley saying something about that.”

  “Yes, well, the bitch is trying to kill me. While my body remains alive, there is a chance that I will return, and she does not want that.”

  “Why not?” said Gibrig.

  “Because she wants the power of Zuul for herself. But I imagine that she is having trouble with him.”

  “Can’t you just, like, possess Zuul or something?” said Willow.

  The companions looked to her, wide-eyed and unbelieving that she would suggest such a thing.

  “No. He may be an infant, but he is still Zuul. I cannot control him in my present…condition.”

  “Look,” said Murland. “There’s no way in hell that we are going to try to break your body out of Azkatraz Prison.”

  “For one,” said Sir Eldrick, “it is impossible. And secondly, we still think that you’re full of shit.”

  Kazimir ground his teeth and looked for a moment to be considering murdering the knight. “I tell you what, hero. Don’t believe me. But your doubt will be paid by blood. Hazel will strike, and you will all know the truth of it. Perhaps then you will want to talk.” He turned from them in a flurry of robes and suddenly became mist that soon disappeared into the dark forest.

  “Well…that was creepy,” said Caressa.

  “That was Kazimir?” said Akitla. “I had envisioned him taller.”

  “Do you think that maybe he done told us the truth?” said Gibrig, looking uncertain.

  “I promise you that at least half of what comes out of Kazimir’s mouth is horse shit,” said Sir Eldrick.

  “Well, I don’t care what he says,” said Brannon. “I’m supposed to be on my honeymoon. Return with me to Oakenhold and I will find you horses to get you all home.”

  “It’s as good a plan as any,” said Sir Eldrick. “Come on.”

  They had traveled south on Atlas for less than ten minutes, and so they hadn’t fallen far from the city. It took them only an hour to reach the gates of the city of elves, but as they stepped out from under the canopy of trees covering the road and saw the city, Brannon froze.

  Smoke billowed from the palace high upon the hill, and many blackened trees smoldered nearby.

  “Oh, no,” said Gibrig.

  “By the gods,” said Brannon, and he stumbled forward and soon sped into a sprint for the gates.

  The companions followed as the elf prince raced through the city streets of interconnected tree roots. They found the signs of battle as they approached the hill upon which sat the palace. Elves still lay on the ground covered in sheets, and the wounded were being taken away from the royal tree.

  “Mother!” Brannon cried, nearly barreling over a knight with scorched armor. “Where is my mother and sister?” he demanded.

  “They are alive, my liege. They have been brought to the infirmary.”

  Brannon bolted west, and the companions followed him past the crowds of elves working to gather the dead. They raced through an alley covered in scorched flowers and to a building whose door was crowded with elves coming and going.

  “Step aside for your prince!” Brannon bellowed, and the crowd quickly parted.

  He raced into the infirmary, yelling the names of his mother and sister. He stopped dead when he noticed his father to the right, standing over a shrouded figure.

  “Brannon!” came the voice of Annallia from the left, and she rushed into his arms.

  “Where is Mother?” said Brannon, glancing back at his seemingly mourning father with dread.

  He looked back to Annallia, whose eyes were pooling with tears. “She’s over there,” she said, pointing in the opposite direction.

  Brannon glanced over her shoulder, finally seeing his mother, who smiled at him weakly from a sick bed.

  “She only had minor injuries,” said Annallia.

  “Then…then who is that?” said Brannon, glancing back at his father.

  Annallia did not answer. She stared at him, looking terrified. Her bottom lip quivered.

  “Annallia, who is that?”

  “Oh, Brannon…Brannon, I’m so sorry.”

  Brannon’s heart was consumed by dread.

  “Who is it Annallia?” he said, shaking her. “You tell me who it is!”

  She just shook her head as tears spilled down her face. Her image blurred, and Brannon turned from her slowly. Annallia grabbed his arm, and a soft, mewling moan escaped her. He seemed to float toward his father, eyes locked on the shrouded figure. Then he was standing beside his father, staring at him, unable to look at the face outlined by the silk. If he didn’t look, perhaps it wouldn’t be true. Annallia was upset, that was all. Perhaps it was their uncle, or an aunt, even a cousin. His sister had many friends. Why not one of them dead beneath the shroud?

  Rimon looked to Brannon, and he was unrecognizable to his son. “I’m sorry for your loss,” said the king, and he turned away.

  Brannon blinked. He had the urge to turn around and choke the king. But the shroud called to him, it beckoned. Slowly, he turned his eyes toward the shrouded face. His hand moved, seemingly of its own accord, and took hold of the fabric. He pulled it back, first noticing the dark hair, then the high forehead, the perfect eyebrows, the slanted eyes covered with silver.

  A shuddered breath escaped him, and his knees went weak. But Brannon braced himself and ripped the shroud off his beloved.

  “No…no, oh Val, Val my love, what have they done to you?”

  He threw himself upon Valkimir’s lifeless body, still feeling some of the warmth of life on his soft cheek.

  Chapter 10

  Step Back from That Ledge, My Friend

  “What happened?” said Brannon, his voice hoarse.

  After an hour weeping over his believed, he had gone to his mother’s bedside. She looked regretfully to him and touched his cheek. “He saved us all, you know. Even your father.”

  “Who attacked, Mother? Who did this?”

  “It was a terrible witch with glowing green eyes, who rode on a ball of jade flames.”

  “Hazel…” said Brannon.

  “I do not know her true identity. She called herself the Mother of Zuul.”

  “I should have been here,” said Brannon, glancing back at his shrouded husband.

  “Do not blame yourself, my dear, dear son. You have always taken on so much blame, so much pain and sorrow. I fear that you will…We are here for you, Brannon.”

  “Tell me how it happened.”

  “Brannon…”

  “Tell me.”

  The queen took a deep breath and let it out slowly. “We were having breakfast, fish eggs on greens, tea, pastries…it was just another morning. The initial blast shook the palace and tore it asunder. I was knocked unconscious and awoke to chaos. I don’t know how I got there, but I found myself on the steps leading out to the pond. The waters boiled, and above them, standing upon the rolling jade flames, was the Mother of Zuul. She had caught us, it seemed. For Rimon and your sister stood before me, weapons drawn and ready to die to protect me. The witch said something, something that I do not recall. She aimed a wand at us, and a terrible writhing spell came for us. But then your Valkimir sprang from nowhere and took the hit instead. He saved us all, Brannon, even your father.”

  “Then what?” said Brannon, looking at the palace but unseeing. He was watching Valkimir’s fate unfold in his imagination.

&nbs
p; “The witch tried to kill us again, but the spell would not touch us. It recoiled, hitting the witch in the chest. It seemed to have hurt her, for she flew away to the north. I believe that in sacrificing himself for us, Valkimir protected us. That is why the witch’s curse went back on her.”

  Brannon was torn, and he was ashamed of his own thoughts, for if Valkimir had not acted, his mother and sister would be dead. “Thank you, Mother,” he said before standing.

  She took his hand in her weak one. “Brannon…don’t go far.”

  “I won’t,” he said, and he gently removed her arm.

  Outside, dusk had found the world. Have I been at Valkimir’s side so long? He wondered.

  Brannon looked around at the destruction, and he felt nothing. He saw the blood on the ground, the scorched armor, the large tattered leaves littering the wooden street, and he felt nothing. The companions saw him and began toward him.

  Brannon ran.

  The others called to him, but he ignored their pleas. He raced toward the gardens, leapt over a burnt hedge, around the pond, and into the woods beyond. Brannon threw seeds from his pouch, and unleashing his rage in a sudden, terrible blast, he caused them to grow so rapidly that the vines snapped thousand-year-old trees in half as they swelled upward from the forest floor. Brannon leapt up and grabbed hold of a branch ten feet off the ground and deftly swung himself up to another, and another. He climbed the growing vines all the way to the top and stopped, taking in the setting sun and the multicolored rays that spread across the sky.

  And he felt nothing…

  Brannon tapped into the branch below his feet and willed it to grow long and straight. It groaned and shrieked as it slowly extended. He walked out to the end and glanced down, smiling. It was at least one hundred feet to the forest floor below. Looking to the setting sun, he thought of Valkimir one last time and closed his eyes.