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Approaching the tree, Oldsmobill and Johann cordially greeted each other. Olds apologized again for his laughing, but as he explained, it had been a rough night for him, and after all he had been through, he just needed a good laugh. Johann accepted his apology and offered him a few tasty berries, seeds and roots from a small bag that lay next to his bedroll. Olds was starving, and gladly partook of the meager rations.
While he nibbled, he told Johann of his many adventures. He spoke of how he had been born in a diminutive hovel near the small hamlet of Pooch, in Allegoria. But, when he was ten, he was taken captive by a warlord of the area by the name of Count Vacuous, who was looking for new recruits to join his Royal Drum Squad. While staying at the castle, and learning to play the snare drum, Olds was given a good education by the monks that lived there. They trained him in the arts of spiritual meditation, reading, writing, and aromatherapy. He also learned how to make chocolate brownies, but since there was never any chocolate around, they had to use ground-up rodent spleens instead.
At sixteen, he was required to go into the army, which he did, but in his first test, at the famous battle of Cow-Pie Knoll, Count Vacuous' army was thoroughly trounced by that of another local warlord, who called himself 'King Piddy the Fair'. Olds was subsequently imprisoned by the victorious king before being let out on a work-release program.
His voice lifted a bit, "That's how I met Master Bates!"
Johann listened, and occasionally nodded his head and said things like "Uh-huh," "Ya," and "Oh," but he really didn't believe anything Oldsmobill was saying. He continued this routine, while nibbling a few berries and drawing circles in the dirt with a half-eaten stick.
"Now, the Master is an accomplished magician and knows so many things...like how to throw a curve-ball, and how to convince a fruit bat that you're its cousin, and how to read the prophecies found in groundhog droppings. He used to tell me of how he had seen the future, and how everything seemed to revolve around televised sporting matches and the price of something called 'gas-o-leen'."
"Really? How does he know what the future holds?"
"Well," Olds replied, "There is a magical stone, that he said allows a person to see into the future. In fact, he told me that because this stone was kept in this region for so long, it has caused many of us to get small glimpses of the future and the past, without even realizing it."
"Hmm, well I don't know anything about that. Although, I do see myself walking over to that tree in a few moments and using the bathroom behind it. Is that a premonition or just an educated guess?" Johann queried.
Olds nodded, "No, I think that's just you picking out a nice spot to leave your mark."
Johann looked upward and smirked. "So, anyway, why did you decide to come to Timbrook?"
"Well," Olds perked up, "I'm glad you asked that, y'see, I was supposed to go to the village of Rottweillor, but I couldn't, and since the second part of my mission was to go to Timbrook. Well...I decided to do the second part first, instead."
Johann, with a puzzled look upon his face, asked: "So, why didn't you go to Rottweillor first?"
"I couldn't get there," Olds sighed. "All the roads were closed due to a frog convention."
After a smile and a shrug, he began to tell Johann of the events that had happened the night before. His voice took on a mixture of anger and sadness with the telling. He relayed how he had rode into town, and how the people of Timbrook were somewhat unimpressed by his 'call to arms.' He spoke of how they had stolen his clothes, and money, and all of his other possessions, defamed his sword, and then jettisoned his naked body over the precipitous ridge.
He recalled the initial rush of terror that consumed him as he was flying in the air and the eventual agony that gravity, and landing, usually brings. Several hours later, he awoke in a large, muddy, shallow pond. After spending most of the night fighting his way through the soft, thick sludge to the shore ― he had passed out. He awoke early that morning, but had spent most of the day just going around in circles.
"They probably ate your horse," Johann abruptly stated.
Olds stopped chewing and stared in disbelief at Johann. "What makes you say that?"
"Because I'm from Timbrook," he replied, "and it sounds like something I'd do."
Olds stood there for a moment and silently gaped. He then looked down and started rubbing his foot into the dark peat. "My goodness," he softly spoke, "He was such a good horse...a magnificent creature to behold. His name was 'Rosin Andy', and he was supposedly trained by the finest horseman in all of Europe...from the town of Kayavolka, near the Steppes. I can't remember the trainer's name, but that is what Sir Mulva, the Mauve Knight told me. He gave the horse to me as a reward for besting him at several board games. Oh! I was so proud..."
Olds turned and stared into the swamp. It was just about noon, and the sun sent numerous rays of light through the leafy canopy. He heard birds singing and frogs chirping.
"He would jump over any obstacle...come to your aid with just a whistle, and even fetch your boots if you rewarded him with a biscuit or the occasional pork rind. He was as strong as steel and as fast as a warthog late for a hot date with a shapely tree trunk. He was as black as a moonless night, and tall, majestic, and muscular. A real sight to behold, he was."
"Tall, majestic, and muscular, you say?"
"Yes! The most magnificent creature I have ever seen!"
"Yea," Johann replied, slowly nodding his head, "they definitely ate him."
He was about to say how much he hated missing out on such a feast, but he noticed that Olds had suddenly turned and picked up a large tree limb from off the ground ― and in a quick and determined pace ― started walking northward, in the general direction of Timbrook. His face was clenched like a blood-red fist, and his eyes had narrowed into two thin slits.
"W-where are you going?" Johann asked, quickly rising to his feet.
Olds didn't slow a step. "I'm going back to Timbrook..." he loudly sneered.
Johann began to follow. "B-but why?" he asked, quickening his pace to catch up. He stopped abruptly when Olds suddenly turned. The knight's angular mug was covered with rage. His knuckles were white, and tightly wrapped around the club.
"Why?" he shouted back, "So that I can go on a killing spree...that will most likely go down in history!" He quickly turned and resumed his pace.
"B-but, you can't..." Johann yelped, but before he could finish, Olds had swung around again, and began screaming.
"Can't?" Can't what? Can't kill every thing in that village that walks, crawls, slithers or squirms...which, by the way, I think includes well over half the population! What? I can't repay them for all that they did to me! Can't?! Can't make those...those...vicious little horse-eaters understand that they RUINED MY LIFE!" A deep, pronounced, primal scream unexpectedly ended his statement, and caused numerous birds to flutter wildly about in the swamp, as well as inadvertently causing one elderly wombat to have a sudden heart attack.
"Look, Johann, you seem like a nice person, and I thank you for the clothes, but I'm not going to let them get away with what they did to me!" He turned again and started walking ― knocking several small bushes out of the way with his crude weapon, while kicking others with his bare feet. "I'm sorry. I have to do what I have to do." He lifted his head up, shook the club in the air, and shouted: "...And murder, my friend, is on today's agenda!"
Johann tried his best to keep up, but he kept losing his left shoe in the thick mud. Every two steps or so, he'd have to stop and go back to retrieve it.
"Wait!" he cried out.
"Death waits for no scoundrel!"
Johann knew he had to do something quick. He slipped his shoe on again and noticed that Olds was beginning to disappear into the trees beyond the swamp. Then, a thought hit the little Timbrookian like a low-flying duck.
He shouted, "But, what about the prophecy?"
His voice echoed through the swamp. He stood there transfixed. His foot hovered in the air as a large clump of mud kept his toes from going all the way into the grubby piece of footwear.
When he saw Oldsmobill coming back, he slowly fell back into the mud, producing a loud 'slorpsh' sound upon impact.
"Prophesy?" Olds asked.
At first, the Timbrookian thought that he had bought his fellow townsfolk a reprieve, but as the angry figure neared him ― with the same enraged expression on his face, and still wielding a club ― Johann thought that maybe he had only come back so that he could start his killing spree of Timbrookians ― with him. Johann blinked his eyes several times and loudly gulped.
"Uh, well...you said you were on a quest, r-right?" He curled the corners of his mouth into something resembling a smile. Olds kept marching towards him.
"Yea, a mission that those filthy little bastards completely ruined!" he yelled back.
"Yes, well..." Johann dropped his shoe and pleaded with his hands, "Uh, maybe that was part of...the mission." He smiled again, happy, that in his fear and confusion he was still able to spit out a somewhat audible sentence.
Olds stopped in front of him. His expression had changed from murderous rage to one of contemplation, and then suspicion, and then on down the line to finally one of confusion.
"What?" he asked.
"Well, you said you were told to come here, right?"
"Yes."
"But..." he waved his finger in the air and then slipped the muddy shoe around his foot. The cool mud squished between his toes. "You weren't told what the townspeople's reaction would be, right?"
"No, but I don't see..."
"Look, maybe this...all of this...was supposed to happen."
Olds stood back, his face had calmed somewhat. His heartbeat had slowed, but a frown gradually began to return to his brow.
Johann, seeing this, thought to himself, 'Uh-oh, I'm losing him...' He quickly kept talking before the idea evaporated inside his head. "Like a test, or something."
Olds looked around. His lips pursed and curled as if forming words that never quite made it past his larynx. After a few seconds, he turned and glared at the man's bubbly face, before suddenly turning back around and staring into the swamp. His fingers rubbed his jaw, then pointed, then scratched his head, then started rubbing his jaw again. This went on for quite some time as he slowly paced in a little oval.
"A test...a test," Olds repeated, "A...test?"
Johann raised his eyebrows in his best 'No mom, I didn't take the last cookie' expression. "Yes. Look, you came here with everything. A great sword, beautiful armor, plenty of cash, even a magnificent...uh...uh..."
He saw Olds quickly shoot him a fierce glance.
"...uh, unit of animal transportation," he said and winced, "But, maybe...you needed to be tested by losing those things...and then..."
Olds dropped the club. He looked upon Johann with amazement. "That would explain why I was never told about any of this."
Johann shook his head in rapid agreement, while Olds came closer. He put his hand upon the little man's shoulder, quickly withdrew it, looked at the thick layer of mud now upon it, and wiped it on a tree. He leaned in a bit closer to him, making damn sure that he didn't touch his dinginess.
"Y'know, that's what's been bugging me the most through this whole ordeal. I kept thinking...why would I be sent here and then humiliated like this for no reason? I mean...it never made any sense."
Johann kept up the silent smiling routine. It seemed to be working.
"Until now, that is. Thank you...friend." He started to pat Johann on the arm, but at the last second, thought better of it.
Olds beamed as he slowly walked back to Johann's little campsite. He began to softly laugh. "Y'know, I don't think the Shrub-Gods of Quix would be very pleased if I went into that town and exacted vengeance upon those people."
"Probably not," Johann replied, having to stop again to get his shoe.
"No, I don't think 'genocide' is something that they would want to see on my résumé."
"Heh...not likely."
"Nor would they be very impressed by me burning the entire town down to the ground."
"Nope," Johann replied, skipping a bit to catch up, "Besides...Timbrook's not that high off the ground to begin with."
They returned to the camp and nibbled on the last of Johann's supply of trail mix. While sitting there, Oldsmobill bobbed about on a sea of emotions. He tried to be happy, but would start sobbing uncontrollably. He suddenly stood up and stared deep into the swamp with a look of rage returning to his eyes. He hissed and sneered through his tight lips: "thieves," "idiots," "malcontents," and "wankers." He had one long cry, one long primal scream (causing another wombat heart-attack), a few moments of using a large stick to beat the trunk of an unsuspecting cypress tree, followed by several bouts of sheer hysteria —complete with rolling around on the ground while kicking and screaming.
Johann meanwhile, built a small fire and went about hanging a few of his garments, especially his shoes, from the low limbs of the tree to dry. He didn't waste too much time doing this, for when one is in a swamp, one's clothes are almost always damp. He just occupied himself with this futile task while Olds let it all out.
The Timbrookian lay back against the tree, wearing only a thin, frayed shirt and a pair of baggy boxers that were adorned with numerous bright red hearts. He looked over at Olds, who was lying face down in a puddle of mud. His low sobs made big, slow bubbles emanate from the thick goop. It was nearly quiet now — except for the occasional plop of Olds' bubbles — and Johann gradually closed his eyes. He felt a ray of light softly touch his face, as his ears picked up the myriad of sounds from the surrounding swamp. Crickets and frogs were chirping and croaking. Birds were calling and answering their kind. Leaves rustled around in the slight breeze that blew in from the west.
It was a symphony to Johann. That's why he loved hanging out there― amid the sounds of nature and the cool shade of the trees. He enjoyed getting out of the small town and having the opportunity to lie back and listen for a while. He smiled. He was glad that he had missed the feast, and all that noise, but he was somewhat sorry that he hadn't witnessed Oldsmobill proudly riding into town upon his great stead. He would have like to have seen that. Johann continued to smile as he closed his eyes and opened his ears.
Meanwhile, Olds rolled over in the pool of ooze. He spat the mud out of his mouth and wiped it away from his eyes and nose. Lifting his head, he glanced over at Johann and saw that the Timbrookian was resting against the tree and apparently smiling a little. Oldsmobill lowered his head back into the mud and stared up at the entangled branches of the swamp's canopy. He didn't hear the sounds of the surrounding wildlife, for his ears were submerged in the cool mud. All he heard was absolute silence, broken only by the sound of his own beating heart.
He stared and collected his thoughts. He was more than tired; he was totally exhausted by what the last twenty-four hours had thrown at him, and the emotional toil it had taken to overcome it. No longer angry or sad, or feeling much of anything at all, except for a comforting calmness, he felt drained of all of his emotions and inner strength. 'Maybe this truly is some type of test,' he thought, 'to see how I deal with adversity...'
He took a deep breath and began to think about what he should do next.
Up until yesterday, he had a mission in his life. Now, all he had was a borrowed burlap shirt, a pair of jogging pants, and two cold, shoeless feet.
He slowly rose up out of the thick mud. He felt his confidence gradually return, and he began to smile. 'Of course,' he thought to himself, 'no one ever told me this was going to be easy.'
He looked up at the sun and felt his confidence slowly return, followed closely behind by another feeling — a familiar emotion that gradually brought a small smile to his face. He wasn't quite sure what it actually was, but it always seemed to be with him.
He began to smile even more and his bright teeth shined beneath the mask of mud. He did still have a mission to do. He may have been sidetracked, or tested, or whatever, but he still had a quest, and by all that was holy and not date-stamped, he was going to see it accomplished. It was then that Oldsmobill finally came to understand what that constant feeling was. The word slipped into his mind and he whispered it to himself.
"Hope."
He trudged over to a small pool of water and began washing himself off. A look of peaceful satisfaction filled his face.
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