BP&G - The Mad Wizard

[joegoda]

Tree limbs, filled with green, filtered the light around and about the two boys as they led their mounts though the narrow path. The sun dappled path wound in and around trees that were taller than their years, crossing the little stream time and time again. Far above their heads, tree climbers and wind sailors could be seen flitting between branches and in the open blues spaces between the green-brown roadways of the upper canopy.

To their right, the forest thinned visibly and the short swath of tall grasses could be seen through the trees, peering in as if through a fence line. Occasionally a tall animal, yellowish and brownish spotted could be seen lopping along on tall legs, nearly dancing in the tall grass. As the boys watched, a smaller one could be seen running behind, legs splaying out fore and yon, working to catch up. A triumphant screech of a flying bird, perhaps a hawk, could be heard as it found the sneaking field mouse scrabbling through the grasses heading for home before rending, life ending claws caught and grabbed.

To their left, the Ridge mountain took over, climbing swiftly green and steeply wooded towards its tree-heavy peak, where it tipped over and slid down its other side. Snaky sounds slithered through the short grasses at the base of heavy leaved trees to pass hissingly unseen somewhere over there. Up ahead the sounds of some large cat, or cats could be discussing loudly who was the victor and who was not.

The stream trickled along the base on this side of the Ridge, drawing weak a line between where the mountain stopped and the rest of the world began. It flowed in the direction the boys came from, drawing with it leaves that had foundered in the slow water, skimming bugs that danced the dance of dart in, dart out, and tiny little minnows that enjoyed the cool ripplets that shifted downstream.

"It's rather magical here, isn't it?" observed Pewitt, from a distance behind Weehawk.

"Shut up, dickhead." replied Weehawk.

"What?" asked Pewitt, wounded. "What's that for?" No answer came, so he continued. "I was nice to your friend back there. What's the problem?"

When no answer was still coming forth, Pewitt started to whistle, tunelessly. It wasn't that there wasn't a tune, it was just that the tune was rather hard to fine. When he hit a few off notes, he would pause and start again. Same tune, or rather, same not tune, and he would wander of the musical path at the same time. Eventually it got to be too much for Weehawk.

"Okay. You can knock that crap off." Weehawk, sourly. "You wanna know what the problem is, Milt?" Moments passed in pregnancy. "The problem is you, Milt."

"Me?" Pewitt started. "How can it..."

"I'll tell you." Weehawk cut him off. "Ever since we got out of the desert, from the very moment we stepped off the sand, you've been a whiner, and you've bitched about every single magical thing that's happened." Another second gave birth. "So don't be giving me any of your happier than thou 'magical' crap."

"Well..." Pewitt said, but ran out of anything else to say.

"Yeah, well." Weehawk's voice came back, dripping tree sap. "Well, my ass. There's not reason for your bigotry. Magic? You think trees and grass and hoot owls are magical? Chrome!" Weehawk laughed bitterly. "How bout talking mounds of dirt? Magical? I think so. What about talking horses? Magical? Most likely."

Weehawk stopped and held Racers so that Pewitt could catch up. He looked him deeply in the eyes and asked, "Has anything you've seen, you've heard, talked to, walked with, eaten with, given you any indication that they are evil? Something intended to do you harm?"

"Well... No." Pewitt admitted, "But my dad said..."

"You dad was an old bigoted man... some blacksmith working in some let's be better than everyone else kingdom, and got infected by the same disease everyone else had there. The 'if it's different, it must be evil' disease."

"But there's a book!" Pewitt defended, hands held out in front as if to ward. "It says explicitly that these things are abominations!"

"A book!" Weehawk laughed again. "I've heard of that book, I think. Every so often somebody comes to the outskirts and tries to tell us about that book. I think they say they're spreading the 'Good News' or some such baloney. The only good news they get is to be able to leave without missing some vital part of their anatomy."

"Did you ever stop to think about that book, Milt?" Weehawk asked, placing a hand on Pewitt's shoulder. Pewitt didn't flinch, much.

"Did you ever ask your self who wrote it, and why they might have written it? It's enough that it was written, but why, Milt? And who?" He released Pewitt's shoulder and started back up the path, leading Racer.

"It was written a long time ago, I know that." Pewitt said. "It talks about our salvation, Weehawk. It was written by good men, wanting to save us from ourselves."

"Good men, Milt?" Weehawk repeated. "Save us from ourselves? Wouldn't that be an indication to you that this book is saying that it's us that are evil, if we are needing to be saved from ourselves?"

"Of course we are, Weehawk!" Pewitt answered, with enthusiasm. This as a conversation he could understand. "That's what the book talks about. Saving us from the evils of ourselves."

"And what sort of evils do we do, Milt?"

"Turning away from God, Pewitt. Anything that would be an offense to Him."

"Like? Give me examples, Milt."

"Okay. Let's say you see a man who is very poor. Do you walk away from him, or do you help him up, help him find his way? You stop and help your neighbor, as he is less fortunate than you."

"That's an easy one, Milt. I've got lots less than most of the folks in Tears. Lots of folks walk by me and don't even notice. That's not even evil, that's just being snobbish. But go again. Give me another one."

"There's murder.. that's a big one. Adultery, which is when you sleep with someone other than your spouse. Theft, lying, being rude to guests. Ummm." Pewitt scratched his head.

"What about judging others?" Weehawk prompted. "Seems to me I heard a few of those book thumpers say that just as we were tossing them down the sewer."

"The book says 'Judge not, lest you be judged'. It's talking about preconceived ideas about people before you even know them."

"Yeah. That's the one I meant." Weehawk said, then went silent to see if it sank in. Then he said, "I knew a couple of fellows, a couple of soldiers that had come from some other kingdom. They had grown tired of the fighting and the killing just because their king or whatever told them to fight and kill. They ran away into the desert and found Tears."

He looked back where Pewitt was and said "And no, they weren't Bags and Pockets. I don't think Pockets has ever seen a battle, from what Bags says. This was a couple of other guys." He turned back to watching the trail.

"Anyway, they gave up their fighting and killing and came to settle with us. I'm not gonna tell you who they are, cuz it's none of your business. I overheard them one day explaining what they were doing. Washing away their sins, they said." Weehawk let his words settle on the grass before continuing. "What would your 'good men' and your book say about that?"

"Well," Pewitt said, thoughtfully, "if they were sincere in their belief of redemption, then they are on the right path. It could be that they have already been saved, since they turned their back on their evil ways." He thought a bit. "I doubt if the blood would ever be washed from their hands, but if they came to be good men, then I would say that they are doing right."

Weehawk added, "What if I told you that they were very prominent in Tears and worked hard so that ever orphan and widow never went without. What if I told you that they did nothing but good works? Would that change it?"

"Of course not!" Pewitt responded. "It would show the sincerity in their hearts to find the right path again."

"Okay." Weehawk agreed. A short distance away a twig snapped and for a second he turned his attention to it. He stopped Racer and held up his hand, signaling Pewitt to be silent. When nothing came from it, he continued. "What if I told you they lived together?"

"I think that would be a fine thing, Weehawk." Pewitt said. "They give each other mutual support and help each other stay the course."

"No, Milt. I mean live together. As in living together as lovers."

"What?" Pewitt asked, not comprehending. "How could they..."

"They are lovers, Milt. Just like man and woman, like husband and wife, but different. They give each other support but they also love each other. I suspect they even have sex with each other, but again, that's none of my business. What do you say to that?"

"It's just wrong, Weehawk! It's an abomination!" Pewitt's voice showed his distress.

"Why, Milt?" Weehawk asked. "They are doing good works, they left behind their lives of killing, and they aren't hurting anyone. In fact, they are helping everyone that needs it. What is it about them that makes them an abomination?"

"Because they're just wrong, Weehawk!" The disgust in Pewitt's voice was very evident. "That sort of love is supposed to be between a man and a woman. It's in the book!"

Calmly Weehawk said, "And that, Milt, is why I told you to shut the hell up." Weehawk stopped Racer and stood away from her, so that Pewitt could see him. His face was sad, but also angry.

"You, chum, are one of the folks I've had to deal with all my life. See, I come from a place where we see people's noses turned up all the time at us. In the outskirts you learn it doesn't matter a good gold damn what a person does in their private life. What matters is how you treat other folks first, and how you treat yourself second. What sort of heart you have. Doesn't matter if you're rich or poor, Milt. It matters what you are."

Pewitt started to retort, but Weehawk held up his hand to stop him. "I'm going my way alone from here, Milt." Weehawk sighed, visibly. "And the stupid thing is, I like you. I think you might have some good stuff in you, but you've been poisoned by your raising. If I'm around that poisoned mind with all it's closed thinking, I don't know what I'll end up doing, but it wouldn't be pretty."

"See, Milt," he continued, "I was raised by one of those guys. He's my foster dad. BeJay, my grandmother, couldn't take care of me when my parents died, so one of these old soldiers I told you about took me in."

"You?" Pewitt gasped.

"Yep. And you know what, Milt?" Weehawk scratched the side of his chin, where stubble had been growing. "I like women. A lot. Course I've not been with any... yet. I also like guys... and no, I haven't been with any of them, either. Don't know if I ever will, but I'm not gonna rule out the possibility just cuz a book and some 'good men' say it's bad." He shook his head. "Milt, I know for a fact it's not bad. It's not anything but different. And different ain't bad, it's just... different. Pure and simple."

Pewitt didn't say anything. He didn't know what to say. His throat made a few odd noises but nothing came out in the form of words.

"Yeah, well." Weehawk shrugged. "This is it." He pointed out toward the desert. "That's the way to go. We've gone about a half a day since Chum, so you shouldn't get too lost."

He pulled one of the bags of Racer and tossed it on the ground. "Here. I can forage for food here. This place has a lot of life in it, and if I'm careful, I think I'll do okay. I may just stay here, I don't know."

"What if you find Pockets?" Pewitt asked, desperate. "Won't you need my help?"

A sad smile crossed Weehawk's face. "Milt, chum, I seriously doubt it." He raised both of his hands and said, "Look around you, Milt. It's just like you said, magical. Horses talk, Gods walk, and mounds of dirt tell jokes. I think, all being equal, that you'd just freak out and work very hard to not be here anyway. I think, all things being equal, that you'd rather be back at home, snug and safe, with your dad and your book."

"But Bags said..." Pewitt protested.

"I don't think Bags knew that you were ... um... what you are." Weehawk countered. "I think when he mentioned monsters and magic you thought he was just kidding, right?" Not waiting for an answer, he looked up at the sun, which had already started most of its climb down from the sky.

"'Bye, Milt." Weehawk took up Racer's reigns again and started down the path.

"Weehawk!" Pewitt cried. He ran to gather up the bags Weehawk left on the trail. "Wait!"

Weehawk continued, not stopping or turning around. Pewitt tossed the bags onto Bel's back and ran, pulling her with him. He could see Weehawk up ahead, and knew he would quickly catch up. He lost sight of Weehawk when a curve in the path obscured his vision, and when he got around the curve himself, not a Weehawk nor a Racer was to be seen.

"They couldn't have gone that fast!" Pewitt panted, catching his breath. "The path goes straight from here."

"Perhaps they didn't go straight from here." a voice said, quietly. Pewitt jumped in shock and looked at Bel. She looked away from him, still not speaking to him. "No, it wasn't her." said the same voice.

It was a voice the color of red fall leaves, with the fluidity of a mountain waterfall and the clarity of a mountain sky. It spoke its existence with the authority of knowing it existed, and had a joy in that existence.

Pewitt looked around for the source, and not finding it, called out, timidly, "If they didn't go straight, where did they go?"

When no answer was forthcoming, he asked, a bit less timid, "Look, is this some sort of game? I'm looking for my friend..."

"While I believe he may have been your friend, I don't think you were his friend at all," came the answer. "I think, in all honesty, you were being a grownup." From the wood stepped a shadow, and from the shadow came the voice. "Now, it is perfectly all right to be a grown up, as long as you realize that it will limit your ability to be a friend."

Once the sun hit the shadow and chased it away the figure resolved into a man, dressed in the greens of summer and the browns of earth. On his head he wore a peaked hat, woven from the same grassy material as his shirt and short trousers. On his feet were moccasins made from large leaves and tied with bits of vine.

He was caked with earth. He wasn't caked with dirt, because dirt is inherently dirty, and earth is inherently earthy. He wasn't dirty at all, but he was extremely earthy. His eyes shown bold blue from a face that was tinted green from the moss.

Pewitt was taken aback. He didn't know what to do. It was a man, a human like him, and yet the man was nothing like him at all. Still, whatever the man was, he was human, and having learned a bit with his encounter with Chum, he stepped forward with his hand out.

"How do you do? My name is Milton Pewitt..." he began.

"And I thought your name was dickhead." said the man, grinning with perfectly white teeth.

"Here now!" Pewitt said. "That's not very nice."

"Just stating what I heard." The man shrugged, "but if you want to call yourself Milton Pewitt, it's no skin off my nose." He raised a finger into the air and started to draw with it. His finger left little yellowish light trails as it moved. When he was done, hanging in the air were the words 'Milton Pewit'. "Is that one 'T' or two?" he asked.

"Um." Pewitt answered. "Um. Two."

The man added the last 'T' to Pewitt and with a flourish, underlined the name with flowing light, and underlined it twice, just to be fancy.

"Tell me, Milton, how do you judge yourself?" asked a voice as calm as dusk.

"Excuse me?" Pewitt asked, puzzled.

"Whatever for? You didn't do anything." A crystal clear smile again. "Much." A wind blew in and shifted the leaves of the man's shirt. The leaves moved in and around and twirled like a small tornado about the man's body before settling back to their place.

"I asked you, Mister Pewitt with two tees, how you judged yourself?"

"I'm not sure I understand the question, sir."

"Sir is it!" The Earthman laughed. His laughter sprouted blue crystals that tinkled in the air and crashed with the sound of cymbals on the ground around him. "Sir! Well... aren't we the polite one?"

"I try to be, sir." Pewitt answered.

"All right, Mister polite Pewitt with two tees, I'll ask the question once more, but no more than once more because this would be the third time and as you know, three strikes and you're out, but since I haven't struck you once, that would be a rather difficult thing to carry out, so perhaps you'll have another chance after that. Is that all righty with you, Mister monster polite Pewitt with two tees, that I ask you again, but no more? I'll even ask it slowly enough that you can understand it with that overly fossilized brain that you have decided to close off to everything except that almighty book you put so much stock in."

"Hold on a minute." Pewitt said, suspicious. "Are you Weehawk? Look, I'm sorry if we don't believe the same but..." he was interrupted with laughter that rang with the sound of a flock of mocking birds.

"Oh my, oh my, oh my." said the Earthman, clapping and dancing. "No, Mister suspicious monster Pewitt with two tees. I am not Weehawk, nor would I want to be with friends like you." The man laughed until he was fully out of breath, hands on his knees. Then, gasping and looking sideways at Pewitt asked, "Are you ready?"

"For what?" Pewitt asked, very confused.

"For..." the Earthman launched himself straight up, causing Pewitt to start nervously. "Up here, slow brain." came a voice from above.

The Earthman was poised some fifteen feet straight up, dangling feet first from an overhanging tree branch. "And no, it wasn't for that. I just felt like being up here, since you tend to thing voices from on high have so much authority."

"Um." Pewitt began, "I'd feel better if you were down here." Looking at the man hanging from his toes made Pewitt dizzy.

"Tough. Deal with the differences." hanging upside down, the Earthman cupped his hands around his mouth and said in a voice as deep as a canyon and as slow as grass growing, "Milton Pewitt, how do you judge yourself?"

"I still don't understand the question!" Pewitt cried. Looking up was causing a crick in his neck.

"Then I'm prepared to hang around until you do." was his answer. The Earthman crossed his arms, closed his eyes and began to snore, dramatically. He opened one eye and asked, "Have you got it yet?"

"What the heck are you talking about?" Pewitt yelled up at the inverted figure. "I don't get anything!"

"Ah." came a trickle like falling whirligigs, "that is the most intelligent thing you've said so far. Tell me when the second one comes." Loud, log cutting snores followed.

Pewitt, at the end of his wits, looked on the path around him. He found what he was looking for, a stone, not very large, but large enough to leave an impression. He picked it up, sighted his target and yelled "Hey!" and threw the stone.

A leaf the size of a catcher's mitt grabbed the flying stone before it reached its mark. "Now, now," the Earthman said, "Let he who is without sin cast the first stone." The rock sailed back down to earth, striking Pewitt on his right shoulder. "That would be me," wafted after the stone.

"Ow!" Pewitt said. "That hurt, damn you!" Snores answered him. "All right, I've had enough. I don't have to stand here and put up with your abuse."

He grabbed Bel's reins and started to take a step. He started to, but never finished. While he had been standing there, sprouts and vines had silently grown up around his boots, wrapping themselves to tightly hold him and he found he was rooted firmly to the ground.

When he reached down to try to pull the vines off, the green shoots quickly entangled his hands and he was slowly but firmly dragged down to a kneeling position. Crying with anger and twisting and turning this way and that, Pewitt was unable to loose himself, the vines were just too tough and he was in no position to gain leverage.

From above him, the snores stopped and a voice floated down, soft as first snow. "You are right in one thing, Mister Milton Monster Pewitt. You don't have to stand. Kneeling would be so much better for your mindset. Now I'm going to take a nap. You think about my question, and when you have an answer, let me know."

"I'll figure a way out of this, you bastard!" Pewitt howled with anger. "And when I do... I'll... You'll be sorry!"

"I have a feeling that when you figure a way out of that, it's you who will be sorry. Nighty night."

Pewitt ranted and raved for quite a while after that, and the only sounds that answer him are the sounds of the leaves falling, animals going about their woody ways and soft snores.

Comments

[hdsqrl.livejournal.com]

*jaw drops*

Oooooh.....

[joegoda.livejournal.com]

My response to closed minded folks....

[journiey.livejournal.com]

1st Thing 1st~ "See, I come from a place where we see people's noses turned up all the time at us. In the outskirts you learn it doesn't matter a good gold damn what a person does in their private life. What matters is how you treat other folks first, and how you treat yourself second. What sort of heart you have. Doesn't matter if you're rich or poor, Milt. It matters what you are."


ROCK ON!!!!!

Now For The 2nd Thing.

Hey Dad, How About Sending Me A Nice Feller Huh? I Been Good. Now i Desire To NOT Be So Good lol