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After Johann woke up and made a pot of tea, the two men each grabbed a cup and began heading south through the forest. Toward evening time, they stopped and made a stew of boar jerky and wild herbs.
That night, they camped under a large tree that overlooked an expansive valley below. Slicing through the dale was a small stream. Just beyond was the majestic silhouette of Marelick Mountain.
Olds stared off into the distance. Johann had told him that the city of Fouldune was on the other side of that mountain. To his left were the last remnants of the great forest and on the other side of those trees was the road between Fouldune and Timbrook, the so-called 'road to nowhere'.
During their trip, Olds had told Johann many strange tales of lands seen and unseen by him. He spoke of many things ― of caesars, popes, and kings. He told of a people that he had heard about that were made of only moss and mushrooms, and of animals that lived far to the south with large noses and long necks, and of the 'Darnii,' a race of people with hands on their feet and feet on their hands who ate nothing but boiled trench coats.
He even told Johann about Master Bates and the three witches that had started him on his quest...
He was introduced to the three witches when his mentor had gone to their cave to trade a shrunken beaver head for a jar of dried baboon hearts. They were always trading odd little ingredients back and forth, as each tried their hand at different spells. All three sisters were totally blind, and had long beards extending from their chins. Their names were Tweedle-duh, Tweedle-doh, and Tweedle-deeeaw. Upon sensing Oldsmobill's presence they started to sing an ancient tune often caroled by druids during the Menopause Season. A couple of the verses were as follows:
"Hark! The toad and raven's claw,
Alabaster spotted lemur jaws,
He sings with great frivolity, but chokes
Upon spiny urchins and muskrat coats.
Hark! He comes, all pimply and pale
To put a comma in our comatose tale,
And bring the stone back to our lands,
And sign all of our checks!
Oh, ain't life grand!"
They kept circling around him and running their bony, wrinkled hands through his hair and across his face and shoulders. One of the hags even gave his upper thigh a good examination while drooling upon his arm, before being brutally reprimanded by her two sisters.
After a bit of growling and hissing at one another, they started to hum like old refrigerators.
"Could he be he?" they asked one another. Then, in an impulsive state of delirium, they began to slap each other around the cave, while Olds and his Master looked on in bewilderment.
They finally settled the dispute, which seemed to stem from whether Oldsmobill was or was not "him", and which one of them was guilty of eating the last embalmed bat's ear.
One of the sisters suddenly shouted out: "The oatmeal!"
They all began to mumble and mutter as they crept over to a large pot boiling on a hot plate. Olds looked confused at his Master, but 'The Batesman,' as he sometimes liked to be called, simply stood next to a closet full of lab coats and observed the proceedings in quiet contemplation. Behind him was a large examination skeleton hanging from a pole. Small screws held all the bones and joints in place, and "Property of the University of Haggis Medical School," was engraved along the base.
The three sisters busied themselves making a large pot of oatmeal and trying to interpret the directions on the box by holding it to their foreheads.
"More water," one yelled.
"No, less," another loudly asserted.
The third sister rumbled across the shelves behind them, tossing all sorts of articles into the mix: armadillo ears, monkey toes, the intestines of an anaconda, a set of car keys, a book on "Popular Medieval Manicures and Facial Creams," a hubcap, a bag of fried corn chips, and what appeared to be several pinches of pencil shavings.
They strained the concoction through their beards and placed a nice dollop of butter on top. Olds stared down at the bowl in disbelief when it was finally presented to him. Steam rose from it in thin, little wisps. He looked up at the three witches who stood around him, but their faces were pointing in three different directions. One slyly gave his thigh another quick feel, before being slapped by another.
"Be a good vegetable and eat your porridge," one growled. Another started to a croon a tune between her wrinkly lips:
"Oh, where shall I build my future?
Today, in the here and now?
Or wait for another suture,
To mend my severed brow?"
"Eat, eat, young one," another whispered, "For time is short and the butter is sliding off the side of the bowl!"
Olds took a small spoonful and raised it to his lips. A faint odor whiffed across his nostrils, but he couldn't quite place the smell — something between a rotting piece of artichoke and burning moose hair. He opened his mouth and heard a voice rise out of the bowl.
"Vini, vidi, vici!" it said in a thick British accent. "Oh, but this course of time is thick with weasel lickings. Alas, my name is 'Baltimore' and my wife has run off with a solicitous shrew."
Olds dropped the spoon back into the bowl of steamy porridge.
"What is this?" the bowl replied, "Better to cough up thy days of sad manipulations than to cry within one's own paroxysmal mutations. Aloof! But, quaint. I see many things and most are quite blurry...perhaps, I need new pair of bifocals."
Olds cast a nervous glance at Master Bates who was busy examining a test tube full of cottage cheese. The bowl continued its soliloquy:
"By the eyes of Marsh,
I stand a bone, to wit these errors ringing.
Drinkle deep,
With sad purchases, and no return policies
For those without a receipt.
But wait! There are strangers about in these lands,
Who carry check-cashing cards and small trial-sized bottles of moisturizing cream, and paint their toenails ruby-red, and spend their nights rubbing the soles of their feet with small grindstones, while singing songs about double coupon days at the local trading posts.
Oh, Maroon Tattoo, why does thy sheep bay so?
Is that a teardrop from a squinting, jaundiced eye?
Or a mustardy stain from a crippled Cadillac kiss?
Oh, I see many things and hear many others...
The past and the future are like a big stew with large chunks of carrots floating about, as well as potatoes, and a few stalks of celery.
I see okra...lots and lots of okra...
I see car pools and oceans of imitation cheese.
I see advertisements for hemorrhoid creams and male impotence remedies.
I see barbarian hordes and men wearing powdered wigs and fake facial moles.
I see a hunchback ringing a bell and monkey in a space suit.
Alexander the Great is cooking his dinner in a microwave oven,
While Albert Einstein is busy inventing the wheel.
It is all swirling around me, and all the images are as one."
"How best then, to eat such a strange concoction?" The porridge finally asked. Suddenly, the spoon rose above the bowl, and after two loops around the table, landed abruptly inside Oldsmobill's lips.
"Best to just delve in..." the bowl whispered.
The young man's mind was suddenly flooded with numerous images, all nicely edited into short, one-second intervals. He closed his eyes as the visions bombarded his brain:
A girl smiling and holding a beer can. A monkey falling out of a tree. A man in a toga shouting to a crowd. A cannon bursting. A car crashing into a fire hydrant. A spaceman floating amongst the stars. A woman staring at a burning house. A squadron of aircraft flying over a city. A painting on a cave wall. The explosion of an atomic bomb. A child riding a bike. A man wrapping a slice of meat in plastic wrap. A group of starving villagers. A teenager singing into a microphone. A knight swinging a sword. A teacher writing on a blackboard. A bearded man shot in the back of the head. A woman giving birth. A tornado ripping through a farmhouse. A tattoo of a dragon. A man nailed to a cross. A young girl running through a field. A ship sinking. An old man playing a drum with a small bone. A group of policemen beating a suspect. A woman holding a bottle of glass cleaner. A large locomotive. A city on fire. A caravan of people on camels. A woman skiing down a hill. A giant machine billowing out clouds of dark smoke. A group of cavemen bringing down a wooly mammoth. An old man and a boy fishing from a dock. Ants pouring out of an anthill. A gun being cocked. A group of men on horseback hunting buffalo. A carpenter using a nail gun. A crying woman holding a baby in her arms. A man in a space suit planting a flag on a barren, gray landscape.
They continued in a flash: a myriad of very different images, from all parts of the time line, all blending together. When it was all over, Oldsmobill collapsed. His face sunk deep into the bowl of porridge.
One of the witches grabbed his hair and pulled him up. He was breathing heavily with bits of oatmeal covering his face. "Wha...? What was that?" he breathlessly asked.
The witches just giggled.
"That was...just that! Or was it...just this?! Or, perhaps, it was...something else entirely!" They said in unison.
Master Bates calmly walked over and wiped Olds' face with a towel. He spoke softly and slowly. "It is what was, and what is, and what, quite possibly, could be," he said, "You are very fortunate my young apprentice, for not many scrawny chicken-heads like you get a chance to view so much."
The bowl suddenly spoke again: "Just do as I say and great things will come your way. This is your mission: go to Rottweillor and gather unto you four carpenters. From there you will go to Timbrook and build a great stronghold...a capital for the next phase." With that, the bowl of porridge suddenly crusted over and darkened.
One of the witches piped up in a dry, gravelly voice ― for she had been chewing on a rat's tail, "The trolls of Razzle-Bazzle will be waiting to present you with a gift. Take this bag of bottle caps and tell them that we sent you and that you require to be fitted with the whole kit and kaboodle!" She cackled, and all three then said in unison: "As it has been foretold, so shall it fore-be!"
"They will know what to do," another witch spouted. "For they are well-read and often sober during this time of year as they are all recuperating from their annual colonoscopies!"
All three spat into their palms and slapped their hands high above their heads, while shouting: "High fifteen! Yeah!"
Master Bates helped Oldsmobill up and assisted him to the entrance. Olds' mind was still reeling and he felt faint and dizzy.
"I will prepare you for your journey, for there are many things you still have to learn before you start your quest, you lucky little mongrel," his master whispered to him.
"Quest?" Olds stammered.
"Yes," The Batesman replied. "You have been chosen. There's nothing you can do to stop it now." Olds put his hand up to his sweaty brow, still not quite comprehending what had just happened.
As the two slowly exited the cave, one of the witches ran up from behind and yelled: "Oh, such a fine young buck!" She firmly grabbed Olds' buttocks with her scrawny, veiny hands and gave them a good feel.
"Oh, what I wouldn't give for just a..." she loudly cackled, before being viciously waylaid by her two sisters.
204Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡhvHBVTxmiJ
"So, this all started with a talking bowl of oatmeal?" Johann asked, after a sip of tea. The little fire of the campsite danced about in his eyes.
Olds smirked and then sighed. "I know...it's strange and unbelievably weird..."
"Ya...and quite an unusual plot device..." Johann scowled.
Olds looked down and frowned a little before adding, "Yes, but it happened, and now, I must do what I guess I was destined to do."
"Right," Johann said plainly. "Tomorrow morn, we will arrive in Fouldune. Time for a good night's sleep...we may very well need it."
"Ya," Oldsmobill replied. He leaned back against the makeshift bed and looked up at the night sky.
He sighed, and saw the entire universe look down upon him, and wink.
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