Hi there. I have decided to post my latest piece of writing, so enjoy!
Prince Redrash and the Beef Stew
By Ben Paul
Part 1: A boy, a rash, a very fat man, and a prophecy
A long time ago, in a galaxy far far-
OK, maybe the story shouldn’t start that way, it feels unoriginal for some reason. Let’s try again, shall we?
There once was a land called Jerolcilia. Jerolcilia was filled with magic and wonder. If one was to walk in the forests of this land, one would stumble (sometimes quite literally) upon a strange menagerie of mystical and often frightening creatures, such as the one-legged Gristlepike, known for its tendency to suddenly fall on its intended prey, or the sly Lodnoffer monkey who was a master actor, and pretended to have sustained some kind of injury. Any unsuspecting traveler who was foolish enough to help the apparently dying creature would always end up lacking a wallet, purse, or any shiny object they happened to be wearing or carrying at the time. Woe to any who fall into the creature’s trap and have a gold tooth.
These beasts and many more lurked in the woods and dark places of Jerolcilia, and our story begins in one such forest.
* * *
Prince Redrash the To-Be-Officially-Surnamed, Red for short, wandered between the towering trunks of the forest of Mangol, hands in his pockets, eyes on the ground. For some reason, Red disliked his name, however true it may be. From the day he was born, Red always had a rash. This is no overstatement; I mean he always had a rash. It constantly moved. That was the really unnatural part. Sometimes it covered his face, sometimes it covered his chest, sometimes his back, sometimes his legs, and sometimes, well, sometimes it covered much less pleasant areas.
Red was dressed in simple attire. And that was putting it mildly. Red was in fact dressed like a dirty beggar. Was this some clever deception to fool some foul enemy and complete some great feat of princely brilliance, you may ask? Perhaps he was off to rescue some damsel in distress, using a wonderful disguise to hide his princedom from the dragon that would inevitably guard her keep?
Well, you would be wrong.
In fact, Prince Redrash was dressed like a peasant because he was a peasant. You see, Red had no idea that he was heir to the throne of Jerolcilia. He thought instead that he was an orphaned peasant boy raised by his uncle, Hangrad the Gratuitously Corpulent in a little cottage outside of Valodom, the capital of Jerolcilia, where, unbeknownst to Red, dwelled his mother and father. And another thing; Red hated his uncle. The man forced Red to forage and hunt for food, grow crops, and cook all hours of the day and barely left a single scrap of food for Red. Even though Red never really knew that this was not his uncle and actually just a lazy man who had found a baby on the street one day and lied to it and forced it to do all of his work for him, Red had always felt that he did not belong with Hangrad.
Today was one of the aforementioned days when Redrash’s red rash had taken root in rather painful southern regions. As the discolored, swollen, pus-filled, irritation was out of sight, any observer of the boy would have wondered if he was a cripple, so pronounced was his limp.
Red was very upset that day, for many reasons. The first reason was due to the current location of his rash. The second reason was that Hangrad had forced Red to slave all morning and early afternoon over a massive pork, alligator, and monkey pie. (The monkey was an added surprise, as they are quite abundant in the swampy regions where Red hunted alligators, and often consisted of the reptilian beasts’ meals.). Upon receiving the huge delight of a pie, Hangrad had said no thanks to Red and simply lifted the great creation with arms covered in about a foot of quivering blubber and noisily inhaled nineteen twentieths of the pie into the vast vacuum that was his mouth. Hangrad left for Red a small pile of crumbs and a few shreds of meat, coated in a healthy portion of saliva.
Red had simply turned on his heels and left the straw hut where they lived and stomped off into the woods. That was it. He would not stand for this injustice any longer! He would not continue to let that fat son of a Dun-Dun Yak boss him around every second of his miserable life! No, he would do something about it. He would . . . ummm, he would . . . well; he would do something about it! Yeah, that sounded nice to Red. He glumly continued on his walk. He thought about what Hangrad would do to him when he returned for running away and not making dinner. He would probably tenderize a huge ham by smashing it down on Red’s back repeatedly, then yell at him for getting dirt and sweat in the meat. Oh well, what’s done is done, thought Red, and at least he had shown resistance.
As night began to fall and twilight crept across the land, Red started to turn back to head home when he realized that he was lost. He looked between the wizened trunks that surrounded him and he realized he must have wandered from the path. As he began to panic, a strange sound alighted upon his ears. He felt it twist a few times around his brain and then slide out the other ear. Quite a peculiar feeling, Red mused to himself. He recognized the sound as a strange singing. It was unnatural and yet enchanting.
He turned towards the source and his feet began to move, it seemed, of their own accord in that direction. Red knew that he should know better than to follow strange sounds deep into the forest at twilight, or any other time. He knew of the many dangers of such a thing. It could be a swamp Siren, singing her sweet melody to bring unsuspecting travelers to a watery grave, or a sly Doppelganger who could take many shapes and create many sounds to lure prey to the sight of someone who they thought they knew, only to be ripped to shreds by multiple claws that sprouted from fingernails.
Red could not help himself. He really could not stop walking. After a minute or so, a purple mist appeared, cloaking everything in magenta and making it much harder to see and tell things apart. Red was truly frightened now, yet he continued to jerkily put one foot in front of the other, delving deeper into the mist. His body seemed desperate to find the source of the singing. Finally, a dark shape loomed above him and Red passed the boundaries of mere fright into the land of irretrievably soiled pants.
Suddenly, from the top of the shadowy form, a voice boomed out. “I HAVE BEEN WAITING FOR YOU, REDRASH!” The sound resonated through the trees and echoed in Red’s skull for a long time. “I HAVE CALLED YOU TO CLAIM WHAT IS RIGHTFULLY YOURS!” The mysterious creature called again. Red peered up at the shadowy form and made out the shape of it. It began skinny at the bottom, but then suddenly bloomed out wide and curved in the top to form a dome. Red’s eyes widened as he recognized the shape. He managed to stammer out an awestruck question.
“Are-are you a-a mu-mu-mushroom?”
“NO! I AM NOT A-” The booming, powerful voice stopped, and was replaced by a small, scratchy one. “Oh, confound it! I do *cough* hate that *cough* voice! It nearly *cough cough* breaks my ribs every *cough* time I use it! And this darn mist! *cough* Always poppin’ up every time I start *cough* playing my song! Always makes my *cough* blasted asthma start up again! Be gone!” And with these words, the purple haze began to drift away, giving Red a clear view of the thing in front of him.
Red had been right about there being a mushroom. It was big, about nine feet tall from the bottom of its think whitish stem all the way to the crest of its big, purple, and splotchy bulb. However, this was not the actual speaker. No, the real source of the violent, booming voice and the coughing was a small creature sitting on the top of the mushroom. It was about a foot tall, it had light purple-blue skin. It’s long, knobby nose was about four inches long, a huge probiscus for humans and especially large for a creature whose eyes were level with the middle of Red’s shin. He seemed to be wearing clothes made out of a burlap sack.
The creature hopped down from its seat on the mushroom and stood, coughing before Red, who was now more curious than scared. He felt a smidgen more confident at seeing the size of this strange creature. The little purple man (at least it seemed to be male to Red due to its voice and appearance) trudged over to a nearby tree and opened a miniature hatch in the bark. This exposed a little record player with a big black disk spinning under the needle. The creature pulled away the needle and stopped the spinning. The eerie music that had drawn Red to that spot immediately cut off. The man took a deep bow, placing his nose firmly in a small pile of monkey dung. He sighed, straightened and wiped the grime off with his burlap shirt. The creature took a long step to the side where the ground was clean of such things and repeated his gesture to Red, saying, “Welcome, master Redrash, to my domain.” His cough appeared to have subsided. “My name is Radish-Face. I am a woodland elf and the Oracle around these parts.”
Red stared at Radish-Face. He was very glad that the elf had not yet attacked him, but he was still waiting for razor sharp teeth to sprout from his mouth. He realized that the elf was waiting for a reply and thought of what to say. After deciding that it would be rude to say “Radish-Face! That makes me feel positively happy about my name! Ha! Radish-Face!” he decided on, “Uhhh, nice to meet you, but how do you know my name?”
The elf replied, “That’s my job, duh! I did say I was an Oracle, right?”
“Yes, but you happen to be the first Oracle I have wandered upon, strangely enough, so I don’t seem know much about them,” said Red sarcastically.
“Why of course!” said Radish-Face, “How silly of me! Allow me to explain. I am charged with documenting everything that goes on in Jerolcilia as well as createing prophecies of the future. And I have taken a great interest in you, Your Majesty!” Red was shocked and confused by this last statement.
“What do you mean? I’m not royalty, I’m a peasant!” whispered Red, excitedly.
“No, you are Prince Redrash To-Be-Officially-Surnamed, son of Lord Fargon the Brave and Lady Gertrude the Commanding, and heir to all of Jerolcilia!” said the elf with a gleam in his eye. “Really?” asked Red, astonished and shocked. “Really,” said Radish-Face, “When you where born, you were stolen by a group of bandits and held for ransom, unfortunately they lost you outside of the castle before they could claim their reward. You were found and raised by Hangrad the Gratuitously Corpulent. And now, I have called you to give you a prophecy.”
Red stood there, stunned into silence. He could only think of one thing to say, and that was, “What is the prophecy?” The elf cleared his throat, closed his eyes, and began, “You shall show yourself to those who made you. Yet they will demand proof. I can see you, standing before them. They will give you a quest. Dangerous and harrowing is this task that they shall bequeath upon you. I can see you traveling across deserts, through jungles, past monsters of all kinds, until you find your destiny. I also smell something at the end.” The elf took a deep sniff, “It smells of meat and vegetables. Mmmmm.” Radish-Face licked his lips with a green tongue. He opened his eyes and looked at Red. “You will wake where you need to be,” said the elf to the prince, and Red suddenly collapsed, asleep on the woodland ground. The last thing he saw as he drifted off was the pile of monkey byproduct that Radish-Face had put his nose in and that Red had missed by inches.
Part 2: The Quest
When Red awoke he noticed two things. One, his pants were still soiled and two, he was lying in front of a huge castle. He sat up and looked around. It appeared that Red was sitting in an alley in the market district of Valodom, the capital of Jerolcilia. Red stood up and walked out into the street.
It was a normal, bustling day. Red watched two men haggling over a severed Camelobeeloose head. They were growing in popularity these days and all big-time rich people felt like they needed a big fat misshapen animal head with three eyes and a hump adorning their fireplace mantle. There were also many rows of vegetable and fruit vendors hawking their wares to the passing crowd. Red knew this part of town; it was where he sold extra meat and animal parts that didn’t go into stews or pies for Hangrad to the butcher. Red looked back at the towering castle in the center of the city. It dominated the cityscape with its spires and arches and high-vaulting stained-glass windows. Suddenly Red knew why he was there and he silently thanked Radish-Face.
The boy took off down the cobblestone streets, weaving his way expertly through traffic, zipping in between pedestrians and leaping over a small cart that appeared out of nowhere. Nobody even turned an eye at the strange sight, many stranger things had happened in Valodom, that was certain, and a boy jumping over a cart was not high up on the list.
Red flew through the city, toward the castle in the center. The houses progressively became more and more high-class as he delved deeper into the city. He was farther in than he had ever been before, surrounded by riches and luxury that he had never in his wildest dreams believed possible. Finally, he reached the base of the castle and saw the grand entrance. He began to walk toward it, but he then realized a problem.
Two guards stood watch outside the great doors to the castle. There was no way they would let a poor, dirty peasant boy in, especially if he was babbling on about being the lost prince of Jerolcilia. For the first time, Red started to doubt the story himself. I mean, thought Red to himself, what are the odds that the King and Queen would lose a newborn child and that that child would just happen to be me? Out of the thousands of orphans growing up on the streets without ever knowing their parents? What makes me so sure anyway? I’m just supposed to believe some elf I met in the woods?
Red didn’t know what to believe. But he knew that he had to believe, because if he didn’t, all he would have to go back to was Hangrad. And as he spent the rest of his life toiling over a stove, he would wonder what might have happened if he had taken a risk and walked into that castle when he had had the chance.
So, with a resolute and steely determination, Redrash strode forward, to the doors of the castle. The guards eyed him suspiciously as he approached. Red stopped about five feet away from the men. One of the guards spoke:
“What do you want, dirty little boy?” He said vehemently.
“I am here to see the King and Queen,” Red replied, oozing confidence. “I am their long-lost son, Prince Redrash.” He watched as the guards turned their heads toward each other, held eye contact for about a second, and then lashed out at Red, grabbing at his tattered shirt with their gauntleted hands. Red stumbled back, but he had been expecting this kind of reaction. As the first mailed hand closed around his ragged shirt, the boy kicked out at the man’s leg, striking him on the side of his knee. The guard’s leg collapsed and the man released his grip on Red’s shirt.
The boy darted forward, but the second guard was suddenly in his way. The angry man swung his cudgel at Red’s head, and the boy whose cranium it was barely moved his face out of the thick wooden club’s path in time. As fast as a tornado, Red’s fist jabbed out and smacked directly into the man’s right eye. The guard cried out in pain and clutched at his face.
Red wasted no time as he darted between the two guards who were both incapacitated and entered the castle’s reception chamber. A startled secretary sat in her seat behind a desk and asked Red:
“Can I help you, sir?” in a skeptical tone. Red simply said “Probably not,” and then ran past her desk and up the stairs behind her. Looking over his shoulder, he saw the secretary pick up a high-class magical conch communication device and speak into it anxiously, “I need security!”
Red turned back to the winding staircase and continued up, toward what he hoped was the Royal Hall, where His and Her Majesties resided most days, presiding over the happenings of Jerolcilia. From his view of the outside of the castle, Red guessed that he was now climbing the stairs inside the huge, central tower. That was good, The King and Queen should be in the biggest, most important-looking place, right? He hoped so.
Red continued up the stairs, his pace slowing down as the altitude rose. He was panting before too long and was barely moving faster than a walk. There was no way that the King and Queen did this every single day! There must be some pulley system that ferried important visitors up and down without any effort.
At long last, Red finally reached the massive doors to the Royal Hall, panting and sweating. He waited as long as he dared; regaining a shred of composure, and dramatically pushed the oaken doors wide open.
If he was expecting a warm welcome, he was dead wrong.
In front of Red were at least a dozen armed soldiers, each pointing some kind of object at Red that was sure to cause discomfort if poked with. The boy took a step back at the sight. He saw at the front of the group two men, one who favored one leg, another with a black eye, and both harboring looks of triumphant hatred on their faces. Red sighed. So that was it, they did have a special way to get from the bottom of the tower to the top at speed.
Red turned to run back down the stairs, but instead nearly ran right into the breastplate of another soldier. There were four more men standing behind him, blocking the exit. Red knew that they had followed him up the stairs, as they were panting and gasping for air. However, they didn’t seem too tired to point various nasty-looking sharp objects at Red.
So, defeated, and with shoulders sagging, Red turned back around to face the King and Queen. They lounged in their thrones, somehow bored, yet interested at the same time. They probably saw this kind of thing a lot. Red felt multiple hands seize his arms and shoulders. The soldiers pinned his arms to his back, and as they began to drag him from the room, Red yelled, “STOP! I really am your son! Bandits stole me but they lost me before they could ransom me off! You have to believe me! Please! I am your son!” Tears began to stream from his eyes, and just as he felt the guards were about to throw him bodily from the room, the King stood and said in a powerful voice, “Stop! There is merit to his claims. We did lose a son after he was born.”
The soldiers froze, but did not let go of Red. Now the Queen got to her feet and said, in a sweet, fluid voice, “Let him prove his prince-hood.” She paused and then continued, “I can think of only one deed worthy of a prince. You shall travel across Jerolcilia, to the western frontier, where lives a mighty dragon that goes by the name of Separate-your-Head-from-your-Neck-and-then-Burn-your-Village. He has been plaguing the settlers who live in the area, barbequing villagers and eating them. We have sent many regiments out to kill the horrid creature to no avail. Only a prince can have the strength to slay such a mighty beast. You shall be supplied with a horse and weapons. You leave tomorrow at dawn.”
The Queen sat back down with a tone of finality in her posture. In a daze, Red was escorted back down the stairs and out the door, where he was placed in the stables and instructed to sleep in the hay. Red obeyed, completely shocked. He thought about the situation for a while. The good news was that his parents would accept him as long as he completed one simple quest. The bad news was that he would have to kill a dragon that had already killed hundreds of soldiers to do so. Oh, well, Red would think of something . . .
* * *
In the morning, Red was woken by a stable boy, who held the reins of a beautiful chestnut horse. The steed had saddlebags filled with glorious weapons befitting knights and, well, princes. There were swords, maces, daggers, a few lances, spears, mighty battle-axes, bows and sheaths of arrows. Red’s jaw hung open as he laid eyes on the treasure trove of weapons.
The stable boy led Red and the chestnut out of the stables and handed the reins to Red, who took them gingerly. He had never ridden a horse before. The closest he had come was when he had grabbed onto the tusks of a charging wild boar and been dragged for a half of a mile, kicking and screaming. Red preferred not to remember it.
He carefully placed one of his feet in a stirrup and swung the other leg up and over the creature’s back. He almost fell off right then, as he overbalanced. He managed to right himself before then, however, and saved himself from the embarrassment. He was even happier that he hadn’t fallen when he looked over his shoulder and saw the King and Queen approaching.
As the King neared Red, he produced a scroll from one of his sleeves and handed it to Red, saying, “Here is a map to your destination, the cave wherein the vile dragon dwells. Ride hard and swift, boy, and prove your worth!” With that, he turned back toward the castle, and returned to his wife. They waved as Red charged off down the street.
The horse made Red bounce and jarred his teeth. He could barely see anything as he lurched up and down. He desperately hoped he didn’t look as incompetent as he felt. After a while, he managed to attain harmony with the movement of his steed and took control. He began to steer towards the edge of the city. People either stopped to stare at the peasant boy with straw in his hair riding a huge, royal battle horse, or threw themselves out of the path of the first-time rider.
Red reached the city gates and rocketed out into the fields where farmers like him worked and lived. The rush was exhilarating as he shot past the huts and grazing animals.
He soon entered the forest and had covered many leagues by the time he stopped to make camp and sleep. As he dismounted, Red realized that he was in for some extreme pain in the rear end. Sleeping on the hard ground wouldn’t help much either. Thankfully, there were many sacks of food and some cookware in the saddlebags as well as weapons, and Red sat down gingerly, built a fire and started cooking his dinner. He enjoyed a nice meal of roasted pheasant, Jabberaw ears, and mashed potatoes. The horse had some grains and grazed around the campsite. It was almost pleasant enough for Red to forget that he was traveling to the den of a horrible dragon that could kill him in about half of a second.
Almost.
Red continued on his journey. Hours of riding turned into days, and days turned into weeks. He followed the map for many hundreds of miles. He left the forest and traveled through grasslands, which gave way to deserts, which became marshlands, which turned back to forest, and so on.
He had many adventures, but those are stories for another time. However, I will tell you that bandits all across Jerolcilia will remember the name of Redrash, and that the ferocious Gnarlopangle will feel quite queasy at the mention of it.
On the eve of the thirty-eighth day out of Volodom, he arrived at the cave of the dragon.
Part 3: The Meaning of the Title
Red squatted behind a bush, watching the cave intensely. He peered deep into the shadows, looking for the dragon. This was his third night watching the cave. Once he had spotted the end of a huge red tail. It slid back into the cave so fast that Red wasn’t sure that he hadn’t just imagined it. But no, it had been so real.
Red had decided immediately after arriving at the cave that he would wait to see what the dragon was like – or even if he was in the cave – before developing a plan. So Red had begun a stakeout just outside of the cave. He waited . . . and waited . . . and waited . . . until, on the fifth night, he saw something.
It wasn’t some regular kind of something. No; this was the kind of something that gets your jaw sore from hanging open for hours after the something. This was the kind of something that you remember for the rest of your life, without being able to decide if it was amazing and awe-inspiring, or so terrifying that you couldn’t forget it if you tried.
This something was a giant, blazing red, fire-breathing dragon. It lumbered out of the cave; its massive claws creating ridiculously loud thumps that Red thought would wake up all of Jerolcilia. The dragon stopped about ten feet away from the entrance of the cave. Then the huge, powerful beast that could rip apart an army yawned. Its massive jaws opening up so wide that Red thought that maybe it had swallowed that army in one mouthful.
The creature then proceeded to stretch. Not like a human, but more like a cat. Then, the dragon took a few long strides and leapt into the air, its wings snapping out wide. Red watched the dragon fly away while his jaw hung open about a foot. Red was very glad that he hadn’t drunk much water recently, for if he had, it would surely have been discharged just then.
Red sat there for a few hours, waiting for the dragon to return. He thought and thought. Red knew that even with all the shiny weapons in his saddle-bags, there was no chance of Red fighting the dragon and coming out on top (or in more than thirty pieces). So, there was only one solution. Red would have to trick the dragon in some way. He had to out-think the beast, not out-fight it. But how?
Late in the night, the dragon returned. His mouth had a sinister red stain to it and his belly seemed significantly rounder than before. Suddenly, it hit Red. Just how he would do it. He knew what he would do to win his prince-hood.
* * *
The next morning, Red’s plan was completed and he knew exactly what to do. He only hoped that the dragon wouldn’t just torch him on sight. He checked again that his rash hadn’t moved away from his chest, and set out from his campsite. He walked the now familiar path to the dragon’s cave. He tried as hard as he could to look and feel in control. His plan would work, it had to, but it depended upon his own confidence.
As he reached the edge of the clearing around the mouth of the cave, he took a moment to take a deep breath and try to steady his nerves. Then, looking like a shining emblem of confidence, Red marched into the darkness of the cave.
It took a moment for his eyes to adjust to the low light, but when they did, it was impossible to mistake the huge slumbering shape for anything but the dragon. Before he had time to think twice, Red cleared his throat and said powerfully,
“Greeting’s, mighty Separate-your-Head-from-your-Neck-and-then-Burn-your-Village, most powerful of all dragons!” The beast’s eyes snapped open, and in a flash it was standing up, snarling at Red. “WHO DARES ENTER MY CAVE?” He boomed, “DON’T YOU KNOW THAT I COULD KILL YOU IN THE TIME IT TAKES FOR YOU TO SNAP YOUR PUNY FINGERS?”
“Oh, absolutely, Your Fearsomeness,” said Red, taking a long bow. “However, I don’t think you would want to eat me. You see, I have quite a bad rash.” With this, Red lifted up his shirt and displayed to the dragon his bright, enflamed rash. He saw the beast cringe slightly, the desired effect. “I have come in peace, to make you a proposition.”
The dragon said, in a lower voice, “I am listening.” So Red began. “It has come to my attention that you have been feeding off of the nearby villages and using their people as a food source. I am here to tell you that you no longer need to do this! I am a fantastic cook where I come from, and everyone wants to eat the food I make, especially my beef stew. If you stop eating the villagers, I will make you one dragon-sized bowl of delicious beef stew every single day.” Red watched the dragon. There was silence, and then the dragon began to laugh. It was powerful laughter that shook the cave.
“Why should I believe you? You are far too young to be a cook, and even if you were, you would not make me stew every single day,” said the dragon to Red. “Let me prove it to you,” said Red, “If you find me a cow, I will make you a huge bowl of beef stew. If you don’t like it, you can eat me or kill me or have fun pulling my toes off, whatever you want. But if you like it, I’ll make it for you every day.” The dragon thought about this for a while and at last said, “All right, little human, I guess I have nothing to lose. Make your stew. I have a giant cauldron in my treasure trove that would work perfectly.”
And so, Separate-your-Head-from-your-Neck-and-then-Burn-your-Village flew off to collect a cow, and when he returned, Red had built a fire under the cauldron and was chopping vegetables. He worked all day to complete the stew, but finally, it was ready. The dragon dipped his long snout into the pot and noisily slurped up the stew. A pleasant expression covered the dragon’s serpentine face. “My, that is the very best food I have ever tasted in my life! I do believe that I will take you up on your offer, puny human.”
And so, they flew back to Valodom, picking up the horse on the way, and presented the dragon to the King and Queen. They were shocked, and the Queen almost fainted. After assuring the guards that Separate-your-Head-from-your-Neck-and-then-Burn-your-Village, who liked to go by Sep, was friendly, they told the story. Their Majesties were astounded, and they accepted Red and had a dragon-sized stable made for Sep. They performed a magical DNA test and found out for sure that Red really was their son. So Redrash the To-Be-Officially-Named became Redrash the Scrumptious. Radish-Face made Red a wand that gave him the power to turn tiny bowls of stew into huge cauldrons of it so that he wouldn’t have to spend all day cooking. Red became the head chef in the palace kitchens and they all lived happily ever after.
At least, until the Great Cow Famine. . .
THE END
