Book title, p.1
book title, page 1
The Quest for Cowmelot
Blake R. Wolfe
Copyright © 2023 Blake R. Wolfe
All rights reserved
The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author.
No part of this book may be reproduced, or stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without express written permission of the publisher.
Cover design by: LimboArt
Interior Illustration: Steven J. Selby Art
Library of Congress Control Number: 2018675309
Printed in the United States of America
One
Iam a happy cow.
Or at least I was until I became a king.
Let me explain.
Once upon a time, as these stories go, there was a young farm boy. That farm boy, being prone to whimsy and wonder, spent many of his days dreaming about daring sword fights, magic spells, and fire breathing dragons. He knew he was a chosen one, just like all the other farm boys in the village, and one day Destiny would call for him to complete his noble and heroic quest.
But that day never came. At least not until he was much older.
A rumor skittered into the small village mill one day, brought by a traveling merchant from the south. It was strange and inconceivable to most, but held great intrigue. It seemed a magical sword had been discovered in the middle of a town far, far away. Immediately, a grand ancient wizard in a large hat was summoned and with his breadth of arcane knowledge he identified it as the supremely hard-to-find mystical sword of kings! He told all that would listen that whoever should pull the blade from the stone would be the one and true king of all the world. He and he alone would lead them into everlasting peace and prosperity. And of course, everyone believed him because who would doubt a man wearing such an elegantly shaped hat?
Naturally word spread quickly and hordes of men flocked to the site from all over the world to try to pull the sword from the stone. At first only the great kings were allowed to try to pull the blade. Having already obtained kinghood, they assumed they deserved it for all their hard work and bootstrap pulling to obtain their royal position. When they failed the knights came in, thinking their brave deeds and gallant slaying of beasts would win them favor, but it was not so. At last the nobles took their shot, each knowing that above all the others, they deserved the sword more because it was their right to bear arms and nobody would tell them otherwise. None were successful and the great wizard reminded them again and again, that only he of purest heart and unwavering honor could remove it. Eventually all the gentry gave up on the sword, calling it fake and rigged, just like the most recent election. Many began to spread rumors that they had actually pulled the sword from the stone, but the neighboring country of Jhina had covered up his huge and undeniable success.
The farm boy, now a young man, quite naturally knew it was his Destiny to draw the sword to become the one and true king. After an entire lifetime of daydreaming and preparing, he made the brave decision to leave his life behind and go after it. At first he thought to wait a while to see if his parents would be killed by some evil sorcerer, but since none obliged, he figured he would have to leave anyhow. Gathering his things and bidding his parents farewell forever, he set off on the long journey across the wilder parts of the world. He knew the sword lay far to the southeast in the small town of Piami, just north of the neverending swamps. Confident Destiny would lead his way, he tossed the map his mother had given him in the closest river he could find and followed his heart.
Traveling for what seemed like forever, the young man made his way across the world, which was in fact a rather smallish island no bigger than the mythical land of beavers known as Oregon. That however, didn’t stop the boy. Day and night he trudged through fae infested forest buffets, nude nymph soaked rivers, and passed by lakes full of dead women handing out free swords. They claimed the sword was obligation free, but it came with a pamphlet about their totally-not-a-pyramid-scheme food container business called Dupperware. One such watery tart claimed that it could make you many gold coins in your first year with little or no effort on your part. But the farm boy resisted all their temptations with pride and continued on, mind bent on his Destiny that would finally make him the hero he’d always dreamed of being.
When he finally arrived in the small village of Piami, he was exhausted, bruised, and nearly starved to death. It was a dark and stormy day, the rain pouring down on the nearby roofs. To his surprise, he received many odd stares from the locals. Little did he know that he’d been wandering for more than three years and at the nearest puddle of water was shocked to see how haggard and skeletal he looked. But again, with little regard for anything else, Destiny drove him forward. Before he had a chance to bathe or eat, he strode through the rainy village, looking for the sword buried in rock and his honor alongside it.
Coming around the corner of a small building he saw it at last. The clouds parted and a beam of sunlight shone down from the heavens, illuminating the sword, the ruby hilt shining brilliantly. A joyous singing filled the air as he stepped forward, not noticing the cart full of musically-inclined monks driving by, practicing for their concert with the pope. He felt his posture straighten, the muscles in his body flooding back to life after months of too little to eat. All at once he was the young farm boy again, staring at his grand Destiny that only lay a few feet in front of him.
He approached the massive black stone. It was broken at the edges and glimmered in the rain like glass, sunlight filling its dark interior. Reaching down he touched it with his bare hand and winced as pain shot through his palm. Pulling it back he saw the shallow cut and realized the stone was made almost entirely of obsidian, its edges jagged and razor sharp. Ignoring the pain he lifted his gaze to the sword. The hilt was a shining and ornately carved silver. On the pommel was a large ruby set into the metal, worth more money than his family's entire farm and beyond. He glanced around, looking for the ancient and renowned wizard, but saw no one. In fact, nobody was paying him any mind as he climbed up and approached the sword.
Wiping the blood away on his dirt-caked clothing, he reached down and wrapped his hands around the hilt of the sword, feeling the cold metal beneath them. The thick shaft felt good and natural in his hand. He glanced around once more, wishing the wizard was nearby so he could at least have a witness, but knew once he jerked the sword fast and hard, the wizard would come for him. Everyone in the world would know his name, the name of their one and true king. He was the chosen one and it was time he took his rightful place. Expecting the sword to come loose freely, he gave it a gentle tug.
But it did not move.
With a bit more effort, he tried once more. Again nothing. Growing frustrated and a little bit concerned, he doubled his efforts and strained against the blade, his muscles bulging as he tried to unleash it from its stoney prison. But no matter how hard he pulled, it didn’t move.
All at once dark thoughts began to penetrate his mind. Was he not brave and pure of heart? Did he not prove his unyielding honor in his quest across the world to find the sword? Was he foolish for not taking the wet lady’s pamphlet?
Feeling utterly defeated, his rain and blood soaked hands slipped from the sword, the cold drizzle washing away any trace that he’d even touched it. With a broken spirit he slunk away, finding a dark and muddy alley to die in. He didn’t eat and he didn’t drink. With all of his dreams dashed, the farm boy found no more reason to go on living.
And he would have died if not for the kindness of a strong blazer-wearing woman passing by. She took him in, broken as he was, and slowly nursed him back to health. Eventually he recovered and she offered to take him under her wing, training him to be a great Dupperware salesman and her protégé. After a long training period and a successful year of sales, he finally proposed to her. Together they were unstoppable and sold enough Dupperware to retire early to the outskirts of Piami, the sword long forgotten. They had two children that they loved dearly. Unfortunately both the kids broke into a well decorated cookie house and were baked into a pie by a witch, which was within her full legal rights to do to trespassers.
Heartbroken and unable to cope with the loss of their children, his wife took herself a young dwarven lover and disappeared in the middle of the night, taking the Dupperware fortune with her. The farm boy, who was now just a single man in his forties with no prospects or responsibilities, bought himself a new shiny black mustang and paraded the animal around town proudly, proving to everyone that he was better off in his new position and that his manhood was definitely still intact and well functioning. But eventually the newness of the horse wore off and the crippling depression set in. He sold it to a local glue factory and purchased himself a handful of cows to begin his own small dairy farm.
The farm boy, from then on, became known as the Cheese-Man in that small town. And the sword, still wedged in the black stone, was forgotten by all.
And that, my dear reader, is where my story begins.
Two
It had been an ordinary day full of ordinary cow things. I romped, I ate, I slept, I belched, and I pooped on anything that would stand still long enough. Overall, I considered it a complete and utter success until one of my hooves hit something odd in the grass. To my surprise I saw I’d accidentally kicked over a mushroom. It was a sm
Suddenly, from behind me, I heard a strange squealing sound, causing my ears to swivel around. I turned back and there was a horrendous looking creature, all spiny like a hedgehog and brown, but shaped like a tiny gangly human. It was jumping up and down in frustration, staring at the mushroom I had knocked over. Glaring at me it kicked off the ground, large orange and brown moth-like wings exploding from its back. The tiny nude figure, an older and sagging female from the looks of it, hovered in front of me, shouting things so quickly that they were hard to make out.
“You stupid creature,” she screamed, waving her fists. I was surprised I could understand her, but then again, all fairies spoke Bovinglish. It was kind of her to curse at me in my own language. “How dare you! How very dare you!”
I could not respond, for I was a cow. While we possess the ability to understand Bovinglish, speaking is another matter entirely.
“You’ve destroyed my fairy ring! I’ve been working on this for years, cultivating the mushrooms just right, correcting the soil, and breeding them for the best color and the most polka dots! Years of hard work, right down the drain!” She pointed back to the mushroom circle. “How in the nine hells am I going to explain this to the fairy HOA? Are you going to pay the fine for not having a perfect circle? No, I bet you won't!”
Again. No response. Cow.
“I could force you to eat one of the mushrooms you knocked over,” she said with a wicked grin. “You would die a slow and agonizing death. That might make me feel better. And I could use your corpse for compost.”
I shook my head. I’d heard of the fairy HOA and their steep fines from my great grandmother, as all cows are telepathic with other cows, and I knew it wasn’t something to be trifled with. Even though it had been an accident, it was clear I was in very real danger from this tiny creature. Everyone knew the fae had ways of exacting revenge and none of them ever missed an opportunity. I wanted to apologize, to say anything I could to make her understand it was an accident. I was even willing to offer up my prized secret patch of clover if it would help.
“No… I think that would be too mundane,” she mused, tapping her chin with a tiny finger. “I think we need something more fulsome, more lingering.”
I waited in abject terror, not knowing what the little creature would think of. For a brief moment I thought about eating her, but I doubted that would improve her mood or sit well with my four stomachs.
“Aha!” she cried, snapping her fingers. “I’ve got just the thing that will teach you to watch where you’re walking.” She came forward, holding her hand out in front of my nose. “I curse you with the touch of Destiny.”
With that she tapped my wet nose.
I stood frozen for a long moment, waiting for something to happen. My great grandmother had telepathically told me about animals turned inside out, cows lifted up into the air by a strange beam of green light to be whisked away, and the worst curse of all, turned into a people. But as I surveyed my surroundings slowly, checking my hooves and my flanks, I saw no change in my cowness. Everything was the same.
The small fairy creature laughed. “That curse is invisible and impossible to talk about, even to your cow friends.” She smiled maliciously. “It will take you far away from here, away from your home, and into certain peril. No matter what you do, you cannot escape Destiny. It will always find you.”
With that, she cackled once more and disappeared with a pop into thin air.
Now to say I was thoroughly spooked was an understatement, but I also had major cow-brain that day. The next stiff breeze brought the sweet smell of clover and alfalfa my way and suddenly all my fairy problems were gone. Instead I scampered off into the pasture, looking for more things to chew and poop on.
Later that afternoon, as I was up by the main barn licking a block of salt that had been left out for us, I saw my owner, the Cheese-Man, sulking around like he usually did. I’d known him for my entire life, which had been the better part of three years. In cow years I was somewhere between sixteen and thirty-five. He’d always been kind of moody and depressed, carrying around his own personal raincloud, but that day was different. Something about him seemed more dark and melancholy than usual. I stood still with my tongue wrapping around the salt block as he approached. He always took great care of us cows, so I figured a little person to cow interaction might do him some good. People were notoriously bad at everything, so my presence would definitely help.
As he got to the fence he reached his hand over, stroking the tuft of black fur on the top of my head. My horns were shorter than most of the other cows, but I didn’t mind. I’d seen plenty of the neighbor bovines getting stuck in things because of them, but I was free to romp wherever I wanted. But back to Cheese-Man.
He continued to pet my head, a forced smile on his face.
“Well buddy, things are getting tough here on the farm,” he muttered quietly. “The ex-wife took all my money and I’m afraid artisanal pasture-raised organic grass-fed raw milk aged in a whiskey barrel cheese just isn’t bringing in what it used to. Since you’re the bull of the herd, you’re the most dispensable.”
He pondered me sadly for a moment as if I had any idea what he was saying. Cheese-Man did not speak Bovinglish and therefore, all I heard were the terrible screeching sounds people make.
“I’m afraid the butcher in town has made me an offer I can’t refuse. I’ll need the money to survive this coming winter.” He shook his head. “Besides, I’m still paying off that mustang that I sold already. Horses just don’t hold value like they used to. As soon as you take them off the ranch their value decreases by at least twenty percent.” He heaved a large sigh, continuing to pet me. “But I’ll miss you buddy. You’ve been a good bull and a loyal friend.”
His monotonous tone was starting to bore me and my tongue was going numb from all the salt. I went to move away at last, but the Cheese-Man walked around to the gate and pulled it open.
Now, to a cow, an open gate can be a good or bad thing, but what it means more than anything is freedom. Don’t get me wrong, I loved my pasture, but living in the same place all the time built up a backlog of bovine mischievousness that needed to be expressed. I wasn’t looking to be free forever, I just wanted the Cheese-Man to chase me for a few hours. It was good fun and to be honest, he looked like he needed the exercise.
Immediately I began making my way towards the open gate at a slow walk, waiting to make a break for it at the last moment. The last thing I wanted to be was suspicious. Instead I wanted to look curious and stupid, which seemed to disarm people and make them trust us. The Cheese-Man didn’t move and as I stepped up beside him he gently reached out to pat my side. I was just about to dash into the wide open world when I felt his hand around my halter.
Foiled again.
Trying to pull away I felt the Cheese-Man’s grip grow tighter. He pulled a rope from behind his back. I had no idea where it came from, but I knew what it meant. He was going to take me somewhere. I immediately calmed down again. It wasn’t freedom, but it was something new, and that was just as exciting. The Cheese-Man tied the rope around the halter and led me out into the barnyard, closing the gate behind me. He patted me on the side of the head once more and together we started down the road, heading away from the farm.
We passed the edge of the farm at the end of the road and followed a low stone wall towards town. I’d never been to the town of Piami before, but I’d heard rumors from my great grandmother that it was a magnificent place full of wonder. I felt the excitement shiver down my flanks and I pulled against the rope slightly, eager to finally see the extraordinary place I’d heard so much about.
