Weird Wheat

173

Weird Wheat

Suzanne Dome

Copyrightｩ2015

Foreword

This entire novel is based on a dream I had about sixteen years ago, when I was heavily engrossed in British Literature; more specifically, Beowulf and Sir Gawain and the Green Knight. While I chose to modernize the story, satirize and remove the references to romantic chivalry, the plot of the story still comes straight from a dream. Each character, each incident, and the setting were all inspired by something that sprang at random from my sleeping brain, and I have a habit of writing down really involved dreams.

Tanesca is a made-up town based on several small towns I've lived in or lived close to. It's demographics and makeup are based on my own experiences in Rural Kansas. I chose to place it east of Emporia because I liked the area for a story like this. The dream originally had this setting in a swamp, and the original manuscript took place in Louisiana.

Acknowledgements

I'd like to thank everyone who listens to me blabber about the crazy dreams I have; Mom, for liking the idea of Aunt Frieda so much back when I hand-wrote the first manuscript; Caitie Allen for donating her photographs to me to make the cover; Jason and Lizzie for listening to me agonize over scene details; my brother AJ for vehicle input and gratuitous bragging; my sister Melinda for helping me at conventions so I could publish another book; and all my friends, in person and online, for inspiring me to continue writing.

Dedication:

To my online friends: you are real. You might be Schroedinger's Cat on the other side of a computer screen, but I think you're all awesome.

Prologue

Gray clouds threatened rain, but swirled and poured forth lightening instead. Dying trees and ravaged crops surrounded a crumbling castle and tower. A war-torn village surrounded that castle; the land was littered with detritus and death. Tuthwaite proper lay in a thrall on its lone hillside. Some distance from it's castle and village, trees swayed and wishered, and bright flashes announced the presence of heady, ancient magic. In a slight clearing of trees, three men stood against the slim, tall figure of the Queen of Tuthwaite.

Lady Laurenia hunched over the prone armored form of Sir Thomas of Tuthwaite, muttered a few ancient words in a voice like tinkling glass, and waved her wand with one slim, pale hand. She was aged, but not elderly, and the grace of the motions captivated the whole army of Tuthwaite.

No! Unhand him you wretched witch!

Neville Eckert felt the life force drain from his own body as he watched Sir Thomas’ body rise from the ground at the pale witch’s bidding, and began to shrink within his armor. Ned even felt a bit of the magic drain from himself and gasped at the fatigue—whatever device the witch had attached to her wand had dangerously enhanced her powers. The trees close by wilted, grass withered, birds fell from the dying branches. This was magic that had been outlawed a millennia ago in the Council of Eight. Lady Laurenia cackled horribly; her platinum curls bobbed with magical perfection and her eyes shone like flaming blue stars. The armor fell to the ground in a crashing heap, and out hopped a fat brown toad. She kicked it hard at a tree.

You can’t stop me, weak little parlor wizard! She guffawed again. You have a card trick for me? Perhaps a coin? She nearly fell over laughing at herself.

It isn’t about strength, especially strength that isn’t yours. Time and space don't belong to you. Ned lifted his palms to the sky, and the sleeves of his tattered blue overcoat fell back to reveal the long striated scarring of heavy magic use. He never bothered to disguise it as the witch did—it was a waste of concentration.

Which, at this point, was rather difficult. The draining spell she’d performed to force the knight’s body to alter form had required a lot of subtle energy, and his own senses blurred and he stumbled. Lady Laurenia bored of the poor toad Thomas and began tossing the squire, Theo, against the dead tree trunks. Ned felt a surge of energy from above, from revealed starlight, and issued requests rather than commands in the same ancient tongue. He knew the universe had a mind of it's own.

Theo suddenly vanished, along with Sir Thomas the toad, and Ferdinand, the knight’s bay steed. The tortured forest outside Tuthwaite Castle filled with the horrible screams and whinnies as Princess Deeliah transformed into the shape of a unicorn and vanished, her yellow dress left in a heap on the forest floor.

Laurenia howled. Her army refused to come to her side, and the skinny, forty-three year old walking-wizard gave her one last sly smile as he too dissolved from form into nothingness. She grasped her wand and shot a blast of white fire at the air where he’d once been, to hit a lowly tree and split it in half. Seconds later, her general arrived, out of breath, and for some reason, not on his horse. Laurenia howled her anger at her army until she regained her composure and shouted orders to search the nearby lands for the wizard and his followers.

Ned knew by accident about the other place, about the portals. He had just woven the shape-shifter spell that saved Princess Deeliah the first time she was attacked by Laurenia’s armies. He knew that magic, the subtle energy, sometimes had a mind of its own, and he didn’t question the reasoning one bit when he’d first popped out of his existence and into a warm, sunny wheat field. To his observance, the place he’d gone was…safe.

Now he traveled the same swirling pathways of space time, knowing full well the others might not pop back into existence in the same location, or even in the same reality. At this point, the universe was in control, and his desires would have very little to do with anything that happened next. He only hoped that the parallel reality offered his companions some shelter, and time.

In the shattered remains of the forest, a vicious storm of magic and energy swirled. Tuthwaite castle began to crumble at its foundations. The people of the village screamed and scattered with what belongings they could pack into carts or on the backs of horses. Only the tower and village buildings stood the next morning.

Chapter 1

A hazy, cold spring sky spread over tree-scattered plains, and the sun warmed the day enough to be outside without a heavy coat. Dead weeds littered the old wire-fenced victory garden in the middle of March. It had no upkeep after the giant home’s elderly owners had moved to town, and truthfully, in Anne’s opinion, needed a tractor. There was an abundance of those in Tanesca, Kansas, and small enough to get inside the rickety WW2 era fencing. Anne brought the hoe down on some of the stubble, grumbling about her newest blisters. She knew the place had been partially renovated by a businessman a few years back, but he’d run out of capital and sold the old colonial style mansion to someone, who in turn sold it to Anne’s aunt, Frieda.

Anne stopped hoeing. Like the other women in her family, she was tallish with an auburn hue in her frizzy, curly hair; she was hazel-eyed and somewhat slim, except for the german-irish butt she inherited from her mom. Her parents were Baptist missionaries, to Freida’s disgust. Aunt Freida had offered to let Anne stay with her to finish school and decide about college.

My last year, thought Anne. No more stupid high school. Instead of gallivanting around the Phillipines with her parents, Anne got to stay in hic-town, Farmville, whatever anyone wanted to call it. It was a farm community that had a creepy old mansion…where she lived. The garden she currently pecked at was north of the house and slightly west, behind an old stable that was functional as a garage.

The hoe came down with a grunt from Anne. Shortly before she’d left school earlier that day, Kristina Boatman had stolen her android phone and dropped it in one of the locker room toilets. Every time she came down on the dirt and dead weeds with that implement, she thought of that skuzzy cheerleader’s fake face. Anne’s only friend, Lissa Carpenter, talked her into just using the insurance on the device, and that meant she-didn’t-know-how-many-days of being stuck on her laptop or tablet to communicate with any of her old friends from South Carolina. On top of that, Kristina’s minion friends embarrassed Anne in front of the guy she wanted to ask to the Spring Fling. It was so old school, she thought. She missed South Carolina. Lissa convinced her to go stag and annoy the cheerleaders. They were jealous of Anne’s grades, and couldn't stand her southern drawl.

Aunt Freida was her dad’s sister. She was part of the crazy side of Anne’s family. She was forty, her short auburn curls heavy with silver, and more green in her eyes. Anne liked Freida because she didn’t see any of Anne’s ideas and hobbies as evil or satanic. Mom and dad could stay in the Phillipines, for all Anne cared.

Anne paused to adjust her grip on the tool’s worn wooden handle, and was startled by the sudden loud whinny of a horse. She dropped the hoe. The horse that pranced and whuffed and pawed its way out of the over-grown windbreak-come-forest was the biggest, metal-covered, non-draft horse Anne had ever seen. It saw her and stopped at the edge of the cedar and budding cottonwood overgrowth, stared at her, and snorted. Anne clicked her tongue to see if the animal would come to her; he looked like he belonged to someone. He was a beautiful chestnut color that glowed under the spring sun, with hints of honey. To her delight, the horse stopped prancing at the ground and came over to Anne politely. The armor clanked heavily as he walked.

It definitely belonged to someone. She grabbed the giant animal’s reigns and gaped at the silver metal plate armor and heavily scuffed, oversized leather saddle and bags. There was a crest or emblem on every piece. As far as she knew, only knights from old stories rode horses like this, for jousting. Or terrorizing their communities. History was a lie. Chivalry was a bigger lie.

She looked up at the giant horse. Aunt Freida would love this, the ren-fair enthusiast she was. Anne gently coaxed the horse toward the stable and inside, and in the stable light she noticed a name hammered into the metal breast plate. Ferdinand, it read. She patted the horse’s shoulder. Or, what would be his shoulder if he wasn’t covered from head to haunch in armor.

Ferdinand. Is that your name?

The horse nuzzled her and then shook his head up and down. Anne stood back and stared. Then he moved to nuzzle her again as if there was grain in her pockets. Anne forgot the hoeing.

Well, Ferdi, she patted the animal’s neck, I don’t have grain on hand, but I do have a nice stable…will that do for a little bit?

The horse pawed the ground and nudged her. She had forgotten the hoe. She settled the giant horse into a stable that looked a little cleaner than the others, went back to the garden, picked up the hoe, to hear hoof beats and a snort directly behind her.

Well, look at you, smart guy. Figured out how to escape already?

Animals were awesome for bad moods. She led the horse back to the stable, and sat the hoe up in the stall closest to the garden. Several other tools hung in this stall. She turned to find the horse right behind her again.

Alright, she put her hands on her hips. Let’s make a deal. You stay put, and I’ll ask Aunt Freida if we can go get you some food.

The horse snorted, turned , and walked back into the stall of his own volition. Anne watched this in amazement; how could someone so carelessly allow an awesome horse like this to just roam around? She supposed lock and key had been thwarted in that case, as well. She closed the gate to the stable and petted the animal’s velvety snout.

This time, he stayed. She was closer to the front of the house, so she kicked as much dirt and clumpy weeds off her boots as she could before she took the old marble steps up to the giant pillared front porch and foyer door. She gently pushed the herculean wooden door open. The musty hardwood foyer seemed even older and chillier in the five-o-clock lighting that spilled in pale yellow beams through the sheer white curtains on the foyer’s tall windows. Instead of going into the main rooms and the giant dining room, she took the little side hallway to the tiny inner garden, the atrium. Dim light showed through the skylight as she followed the brick path to the kitchen, where her Aunt hovered over this month’s budget. She glanced up.

D’ya get tired of hoeing already? She gave her niece a sideways grin. I figured that encounter with the Boatmen girl woulda had you at it longer. She sniggered a little.

That’s not fair, Auntie, I was interrupted. Anne crossed her arms over her chest, trying to look pouty and not excited. It wasn’t working well.

Freida’s eyebrow went up, and she glanced at the goose-clock hanging on