Land of Storms

Chapter 1

         Metal clinked as the knight's head turned to look over the fields to his right. The buckskin gelding he rode stomped the ground restlessly beneath his saddle. Corson squinted his gray eyes through the opening in his helmet, the visor lifted for a clearer view. He let out an enormously dramatic sigh for the hundredth time and thought to himself, Crap. I am so screwed.

         He had been hiking in the mountains near the Appalachian Trail like he did every year, venturing off to explore some caves he had spotted that looked a little out of place. Next thing he knew, he was sitting astride a large buckskin war horse, dressed in armor that was bulky, heavy, annoying, and less than comfortable. He was lucky that he knew how to horseback ride or he would have been in a royal mess. He had grown up on a farm in the south and was accustomed to being on the back of a horse. But how he got on the back of this one, he would probably never figure out. He had been sitting in this saddle for the last twenty minutes, the horse stomping impatiently under him while he stared in utter confusion and more than a little horror at the definitely not Appalachian Trail before him. He was in a field, the tall grass spread far on every side, trees dotting the landscape, and a gentle breeze blowing past. He would have been in awe of the beauty around him had he not been so wrapped up in trying to not vomit and panic at the abrupt change in realities.

         He continued staring and nothing changed. The world was similar to his and yet not. The first thing he noticed was the sky. The sun was more of a warm, orange-gold color, casting a deeper sunrise-type light on everything. The second thing he noticed was that there were two moons in the sky. And the third thing he noticed was that a tree moved off to his left. The tree was not swaying in the breeze. No. It literally had stood and run away when Corson appeared in this world. And it did not run on feet. It had run on its roots like a cartoon.

         He was tempted to just drop the reins and let the horse go wherever it came from in order to find shelter and food, but there was a monstrously large castle across the grassland and he was afraid the horse would take him there and then he would be trapped, an imposter in a random man's armor with no idea where the owner of the outfit ended up. After twenty minutes of doing nothing, though, he was warming up to the idea that maybe letting the horse find his own way would be the most efficient use of his time. Despite his anxiety at leaving the place where he appeared, he nudged the horse with his metal heels and let it have its head. The gelding threw his head as if to bolt and then proceeded to surprise him by beginning the slowest and laziest walk he had ever witnessed from a horse. As he had feared, the buckskin headed straight for the castle. Crap, he thought again to himself. Crap. Crap. Crap.

         Ahead of Corson was a mind blowing castle. Its parapets and walls, towers and banners made him feel like he was in a fantasy. This couldn't be real. He had to be dreaming. The fiery sun glinted off of the white stone, giving it the feel of a city made of flames. There was a city at the bottom of the hill on which it sat and the road up to the great hall seemed steep and unpaved from this distance. As they plodded closer, the man noticed that it seemed to be abnormal for trees to run away in this land. He came to this conclusion when no more trees fled as he drew near. His curiosity overtook his anxiety momentarily as he wondered why one tree ran away and the others seemed to be normal. And then he heard voices. Loud and grating. He had thought car horns, jake brakes, screeching tires, yelling and cell phones ringing non stop was annoying. But this was much worse. Donkeys brayed, people yelled over one another, kids ran and screamed at octaves only opera singers could reach, wooden carts banged and chickens clucked and squealed, horses snorted and neighed, and there was less than no chance to think in your own head. He wasn't even in the city yet. This was a market outside the city. Corson had been wishing for home and regretting his hike since he found himself at a near gallop in the woods all of a sudden after walking into that cave. Now he regret it more. He was getting a headache and the sounds around him were making him irritable. The fear was still present, though, and he watched as people stopped mid task and stared at him in wonder. He knew his horse was a giant. The buckskin was a draft horse, a heavy horse bred for hard labor and carrying armored soldiers into battle with their weapons and standards. But their level of shock and awe did not seem normal with just seeing a war horse. Was he not supposed to be in the city? Did the horse not actually belong to this city and they thought he was an invading soldier? But there was no fear in their eyes. Just astonishment and amazement. A couple of teen boys mounted horses and taking a final look back at him, took off toward the castle gates. All this time, the gelding continued its pace through the streets and straight to the castle gates on the other side of the city.

         The horse walked around the city and to a path just beside the wall. Corson glanced behind him uneasily, the feeling of being watched unbearable. Citizens peered around the wall and some followed from a distance. He could not have been that much of an oddity, could he? Sweat beaded on his skin, though the temperature outside was quite comfortable even in his armor and whatever clothing he was wearing underneath. What am I wearing under this armor? He thought to himself suddenly. He hadn’t even realized that if he was wearing armor, his other clothing underneath must have also undergone a change. With a mental shrug, he glanced behind him again, his unease growing as more people gathered to follow. He urged his horse into a trot and the people continued to try to keep up. Screw this, he told himself in alarm, and urged his horse into a loping canter. The heavy hoofbeats pounded in his ears and thudded in the dirt below as he saw the end of the wall some distance ahead. Beyond that, he could see the gleaming metal gates of the road leading up to the castle. The horse was still directing itself with no help from him. He merely held the reins so he felt less vulnerable and more like he knew what he was doing. But Corson had no idea what he was doing or where he was going or why. The people were running behind him and his fear grew. However, a minute more and the horse slowed itself at the gate, tossed its head and let out a friendly nicker. The fake knight scoffed mentally at the sudden lightheartedness. It contrasted completely with his inner terror and he hated it. The gate opened for him and the horse jumped into a much happier and relaxed trot with no encouragement from his rider. With a sharp clank, the gate closed behind him and he saw guards watching his back. The people were all standing behind the bars with looks of disappointment mixed with great anticipation.

         Corson sighed a huge sigh of relief and relaxed for a moment. And then he lifted his eyes to the massive stone walls above him on the hill and his anxiety settled in anew. Oh crap. Oh shoot. I’m gonna freaking die. His thoughts repeated this over and over in his head. “Stupid horse,” he said to his mount. “You really are trying to get me killed, and you’re happy about it, too.” As if to prove the man’s point, the horse nearly frolicked up the cobblestone lane toward the courtyard, throwing its head and nickering excitedly. When he reached the courtyard, he took over and pulled the horse to a halt. The buckskin protested, pulling at the leather at first, but obeyed, flicking its ears back in annoyance. Before him were probably a hundred people or more. He saw servants, cooks, some men who could have been merchants and other people in finely woven cloaks covering their ornately decorated robes and boots. And then he saw the two boys standing beside their horses. In front of all of them, though, was a man so regal, so intimidating, yet so inviting. His dark, wavy hair reached just below his shoulders and his broad and stocky build looked to be solid muscle under his tunic and cape. On his head sat a golden crown, woven with the brightest silver designs and jewels that did not even exist. Not in the real world anyway. Beside the man who was obviously the king stood a gorgeous woman, a silver and gold crown resting on her head as well. Hers was not so large, but it was just as finely crafted and shown like the sun. Well, the real sun. This sun bathed the entire scene in an otherworldly glow that made this entire situation seem even more crazy than it already was. Maybe if they kill me here, I’ll wake up and realize this was all a dream. Beside the king and queen were two guards. They were big men, bearded and gruff. One was blonde, the other's hair was black. Both had their long locks pulled back with leather cords. Taking a deep breath, Corson sat still, waiting for the inevitable execution command or interrogation or something. He waited for anything other than what happened. After sitting still and sweating for what seemed like an eternity, the imposter knight watched the king and every other person kneel before him. What the heck? He thought in amazement. And then, Who in the world am I impersonating? If whoever owned this armor had enough authority to make a king bow, I’m getting tortured for years before they finally put me out of my misery. God, kill me now.

         Thunder echoed in the distance just as his last thought finished. I guess God was listening. But another voice broke into his thoughts. One of the king’s guards had come up to him while he had his head turned toward the sound of the oncoming storm.

         “Sir knight, the king implores you to hasten inside before the storm. Please, come with me.”

         As if making a good first impression was not important, Corson replied with, “What about my horse?”

         Confused, the guard glanced at the king, brows furrowed. The monarch waved his hand and nodded in some other direction before turning and retreating into his great hall. “Legacy is his highness's horse, sir. You may rest assured that he will indeed be taken good care of.”

         Oh great. I stole the king’s horse. What else could go wrong?

         Hesitantly, he dismounted and eyed the clouds that were quickly approaching. The guard gestured to the incredibly large wooden and iron doors of the castle. “Please hurry this way.” He nodded to a stable hand to take the horse. “We must get in before the rain. There is no way to tell what it will be this time.” Corson thought this was strange wording, but he kept his mouth shut and followed the man inside.

         The big doors closed behind the two men and the king’s guard led the fake knight to the dining hall. A servant met them at the doorway and showed Corson inside to a seat next to where the king sat, asking what he would like to eat. Now the fear turned back to terror. He shook his head and tried to sound confident. He failed. “Uh… Anything you have is fine. Thank you.” His voice trembled and was higher than appropriate. He wished the ground would swallow him up. The thunder outside sounded more inviting the closer it came. He sat, rigid in his seat, sweat pouring down his back. He glanced around nervously and noticed everyone looking at him. He glanced at the king. The big man stared at him, a mix of confusion and annoyance twisting his features. Why is everyone…? Crap! My helmet! “I’m sorry, your majesty,” he said, ducking his head and pulling off his helmet. If he had felt small and vulnerable before, he definitely felt so now. With his entire face exposed, he felt like a child on a battlefield. Everyone gasped when he lifted his head back up. He placed the helmet on the floor next to his seat slowly and tried to figure out where he should look to not appear as rude or stupid and gave up, looking up at those around him before moving his gaze to the king to see what he thought.

         The large man studied him and then let out a slow whistle through pursed lips. Corson felt like an insect or a zoo animal in a cage on display. But then the king spoke. “You are a much younger man than we expected, brave knight. You hardly look beyond sixteen years.” Should he laugh or be offended? He looked a bit older than most of his friends and most of them were married with children. “We anticipated someone… how should I put it?”

         His wife jumped in. “Someone with more years and battles behind them.”

         “Ah yes,” the king continued. “We anticipated that our savior would bear the marks of war and the age of wisdom. Though I see you bear neither. Unless you hide scars beneath your armor elsewhere.” His eyes scanned downward and the young man felt violated and offended.

         Corson had been a soldier. Yes, it was only six years, and yes, he was only in the reserves so he did basically nothing. But this observation was frustrating regardless. He had just opened his mouth to respond when screams echoed through the halls in another part of the castle. The screams were desperate, full of horror, and laced with unimaginable pain. He stood, his action sudden and automatic. The king reached out and rested a firm hand on the knight’s forearm. “Sit. Please. The rain has begun. I’m sure we will hear what has happened in a moment.”

         As if on cue, a servant ran in, his breathing coming in gasps, whether from running or from fear, none could tell. “My lord! The rain! It’s… it’s… acid!” he managed to get out between heaves. A small gasp was heard from a few in the room and hallway. The king just shook his head and his face donned a grave expression. “Have someone find the physician. Give attention to whoever was caught out in the rain. I will personally check on those in the city when the storm has passed and the ground has dried.”

         Corson stopped listening after the servant’s report. What fresh hell did I fall into? He thought to himself. He had to pull himself from his thoughts when he realized the king had begun to address him. “...is the reason we assumed someone more aged would be brought to help us. The storms have become more and more deadly and come much more often than they used to. We now have only minutes to reach safety before the rain begins. We were fortunate this time. This time the thunder came first. Sometimes only the clouds give warning.” He looked at his wife sadly. “There are none in this land who can defeat this magic. There are none who even know how it began or why. But it has brought you here to save us and that is enough for us.”

         Corson’s eyes widened. Did he just say I need to save them? From acid falling from the sky? What do I look like? A magician? God? “What did you say?”

         Those at the table looked at one another, uncertain. The king cleared his throat and began again. “The prophecy, good sir. It told us that a knight would come, seemingly out of nowhere and would save us from the storms.”

         He had heard enough. He shook his head in disbelief. Nope. Not happening. I’m not even a knight. I’m barely even an actual soldier! “A prophecy told you this? What prophecy? How am I supposed to fight rain and clouds? How am I supposed to fight against wind? What do you take me for?” His voice had increased in volume and he was getting agitated. This was insane. There was no way. The black haired guard placed his hand on his sword at his side and stepped forward.

         The king raised a hand to stop him. “Please, sir knight, sit and eat. The food will be brought out momentarily. The wizard who gave us the prophecy is indeed reliable and I would trust him with my life and that of all those I rule over. You are the one we have been waiting for.”

         If someone had given the prophecy, then maybe they could convince the king that there was a mix up. Could magic mess up? Could it make mistakes? What was he even thinking? Magic isn't real. None of this was even real! Rain that fell as acid and melted people? Magic storms? A wizard with prophecies? A running tree for Pete’s sake! Maybe he had fallen and hit his head in the cave and this was a coma nightmare. Were those a thing? They had to be. There was no other explanation.

         “Sinjin! Bring Tress to us now,” the monarch commanded a servant at the door.

         “But, your highness, the rain still falls.”

         Frustrated, the king thought for a moment. “Then send Goj.”

         Bowing, the servant hurried away.

         Just then, the food was brought in and the table was filled with more food than Corson had ever seen in one place in his life. His stomach rumbled and his plan to retire early after a few bites disappeared when his plate was placed in front of him with a large wooden goblet of beer.

         The conversation began around the knight as he chugged a goblet of beer and asked a servant for more. His nerves were beginning to relax a bit as he felt the heat seep through him from the alcohol. This beer was strong. He liked it a lot. He began eating, his mouthfuls large and earnest. The conversation turned back to him and he once again felt uneasy, even as the alcohol helped to numb his anxiety. He wasn’t normally the anxious type. Actually he was always confident, calm, and level headed. But he had suddenly been dropped in an imaginary world with running trees and killing rain and wizards and other things that only existed in Grimm fairy tales or drug induced hallucinations. Right now, he was starting to wish he was a drug addict so that at least this would be easy to explain.

         The queen turned to face him, elegantly dabbing her mouth with a napkin. “Good sir, can you tell us your name? Perhaps your title or status as well? I feel it would be more respectful if we could call you by a proper name and title.”

         “Uh… yea.” He squirmed in his seat. What did she mean by title? What was he supposed to say to that? “My name is Corson Grey. I am an E-2, ma’am.” The queen looked put off momentarily, but recovered.

         A guard near him leaned in. “I do not know from where you come, but ma’am is an extremely disrespectful way to address her highness. I suggest you try again.”

         Corson coughed, embarrassed and distressed. “I’m sorry. Your highness.”

         The queen nodded in acceptance. And the king leaned forward, his elbows on the table, lacing his fingers, his interest piqued. “Is ma’am a term of respect where you come from?”

         The outsider’s face flushed. “Yes, your majesty. It is. I meant no disrespect to her highness. I have never sat with a king before. Kings where I come from are rare and mostly just a title and a sentiment.”

         The other seemed satisfied and his wife resumed eating, her curiosity returning as she chewed her food thoughtfully. “What does E-2 mean? Is it a social standing in your land?”

         The young man swallowed a large bit, nearly choking on it. “Not exactly. I am in the military. It is my rank.”

         “Ah! So you are a skilled knight indeed! I was worried that the magic had failed us!” He clapped his hands in a joyful gesture. “I assume E-1 is the highest rank in your military force then.”

         Taking another inappropriately huge swig of beer, the soldier choked out his answer. “Yea, sure.” His face flushed again with shame. If this land and these people really were real, they were looking for a hero, a savior as they said. Instead, they were brought a military dropout who only signed up for the bonus so he could hike the Appalachian Trail during the summers. He had no combat experience and did as little as possible for his six years in the reserves. He had cut so many corners that he basically spiraled until he was discharged. They didn’t deserve a guy like him. They deserved someone who had a solid plan for his life. A genius with some type of skill beyond pushups and rock climbing. Despite all of his insecurities and knowing he was not the man they needed, their hope and trust in him caused him to put on an act. He couldn’t let them down. Even if this was a dream of some sort, he would take this chance to try to do something worthwhile for once in his life. He had saved all his money from the army by sleeping on friends’ couches and working part time jobs to pay for gas for his motorcycle, his cellphone, and his food. When he saved up enough by the end of six years, he continued to sleep on couches and made a yearly tradition of hiking in the mountains during the summers. He avoided any real full-time job commitment when possible. Why wouldn’t he? He could live off friends when he wanted to and shirk responsibility until he decided what he wanted out of life. But he was twenty-six as of this year. He was too young to settle down in a dull, dead-end job, get married, have annoying kids, and be trapped before he even figured himself out.

         However, sitting here, next to a king with his queen on one side, and a king's guard and some royal someones on his other side, he found himself wishing he had done more to make something of himself early. Why hadn’t he stayed in the military and made a career out of it? Why hadn’t he found a beautiful wife like this queen and settled down? Because he was lazy and selfish. It hurt to admit it, but for the first time in his life he did. And for the first time in his life he felt the need to be anything other than who and what he was. Mere hours in this crazy hallucination had done this to him. Imagine if this place was real? He thought with a silent chuckle. Man, this beer is good. He took another gulp and raised his goblet, asking for more. A stern look passed between the two monarchs as the cup was refilled for the somethingth time. Corson downed that cup, too and held his hand up for more. As the servant came back over with the jug, the knight leaned too far back in his chair and fell unceremoniously onto the floor.

         “Darn it all!” he hollered to no one in particular, trying to roll to get himself back to his feet. The heavy armor forced him to imitate a turtle on its back and he wiggled around on the floor like an animal before he finally laughed at himself and passed out.