The Felloship of the 69 Rings: Chapter 2

Chapter 2

The Road to Teeter Tower

Slowly, the world gained shape. It began with rudimentary two dimensional images; a mass of dark brown and green rectangles in the distance, a bright orange triangle nearby in the middle ground, and a large, silver rectangular mass with smaller rectangles was sticking out of it and a circle on top of it all was very close in the foreground. Everything was blurry and hazy, perpetually discombobulated.

All Frederick Cease knew was that he was awake, and his head was throbbing. The pain quickly became more prevalent, however, and soon not only his head seemed like it was going to explode but his entire body felt as if it had been dragged behind a horse for miles along a rough and rocky road.

Cease's vision gradually began to clear, though with far less intensity than had arisen his searing body aches. While he lay immobile against something hard he could not feel, the shapes in front of him started to sprout details and fine edges. The giant circle and rectangle drew even closer to his face. He would have been frightened, but there was little point in it since his senses were dead and he couldn't move to react anyway. But all too soon, sheer horror overcame even his numbness.

The circle was a face. A young face, with wide, curious eyes. A face with curly, tousled brown hair. A face with a mouth that was spread in an intent, anxious, and closed-lipped smile. The rectangles turned out to be a boy's body and arms, covered in silver armor that reflected the orange glow of a campfire behind him. Trees, mostly pine, surrounded them in every direction. Suddenly, Cease's senses returned to him all at once and he found himself grounded in the world once again. The timing couldn't have been worse, however, because then the boy leaning over him spoke.

“You have beautiful eyes.”

Cease blinked. And froze. Which was rather unnecessary, since he was already paralyzed.

“Begging your pardon?” he asked warily.

“Your eyes,” Dawson said. “They're a lovely shade of green. Green is my second favorite color.” The boy remained in place, smiled even more brightly, and kept staring.

“Err, thanks... I suppose... Please get off me.”

“Oh, right! Sorry!” Dawson hurriedly stepped backward, then planted himself cross-legged on the ground barely a foot farther away. Still, he didn't stop staring.

Cease, in bewilderment, stared right back. Was he in hell? He had no memory of anything that wasn't distant. He figured well enough though, that his headache was indeed a hangover. He'd experienced plenty to know that. Beyond that, however, there was nothing. No idea why he was lying against a rock on tough, grassy ground in the middle of a grove. No idea why the creepiest child he'd ever seen in his life was staring him down.

“Have I been kidnapped?”

Dawson giggled. "Of course not silly, you're too old for that!"

I--what? Cease stopped himself before even trying to make sense of that. Something told him this was going to be a long conversation. No pun intended.

He tried to sit up, but winced when a stabbing sensation streaked straight down his spine. Letting himself slide back into a comfortable position, he sighed and glared at Dawson.

"All right. Who are you, where am I, and what the hell is going on?"

Dawson's face fell. "You mean you don't remember?" Cease shook his head emphatically, glad to be finally making progress. Then, out of nowhere, Dawson began tearing up. "But you promised you'd help me!"

While Dawson sobbed and sobbed, Cease, already seeing where this was going, groaned and rolled his eyes. "I knew getting wasted was a bad idea...."

A few seconds passed of incomprehensible blabbering and blubbering, but among it all Dawson managed to choke out something that Cease couldn't have missed even if he wanted to. "But Ganondalf said you'd help me!"

Eyes wide, the ranger zeroed in on the boy with sudden attentiveness. "What did you say?"

Dawson sniffed and wiped his eyes with the same hand he used to wipe his nose with a moment ago. "I said--I said Ganondalf told me you'd help me. You promised! Boo-hoo!"

Before Dawson could dive full steam ahead into another outburst, Cease quickly made to hush him, even throwing out a staggeringly sore arm in the effort to get the boy quiet. Calmly and carefully, the ranger slowly spoke. "Just tell me exactly what happened. Who are you. Where am I. And what am I doing here. Please."

Flushed, but recovering, Dawson looked at the ranger with puffy, puppy eyes and recounted the details of earlier in the day.

"You have got to be @&%#$ me."

"Oh please, please Mr. Cease, you have to stay!" Dawson begged. "I didn't know that you'd lose your memory from falling off your horse and getting dragged all the way here--"

"Say what?"

"--but I promise, I promise that you promised me you'd come along! And Ganondalf-- Master Ganondalf told you to! I'm sorry this has happened, but please, I really need your help!"

Cease's headache was coming back on. Well, at least these internal injuries now have an explanation, he thought wryly. Despite the fact that he still could not recollect a thing, he had a gut feeling that the kid was telling the truth. But even if he hadn't had a gut feeling, he was pretty sure this kid was telling the truth anyway. Why? Because idiots don't just make up stuff like this. And because it made sense that the old bloke Ganondalf had finally found a way to punish him. I am warning you, ex-ranger Frederick Marigold Cease, if I see you smashed in this tavern ever again so help me God I am going to-- why I'll-- I will do something truly terrible, mark my words! Oh, he'd marked them all right. But apparently not enough. Sure, they'd had some pretty bad blood between them for years, but he didn't think the old goat would actually go and... and do something like this! Gallivanting across the country searching for a preposterous myth holding hands with a damned 12 year old girl. Brilliant.

Now, Cease could have chosen to be absolutely depressed about this, but you know what? He didn't. In fact, he would do it. He WOULD travel the country and he WOULD hold hands with this blubbering infant and he WOULD come back and show Ganondalf that he was a man with rights and could get as drunk as he wanted whenever he wanted and however excessively as he pleased! He was going to find these rings and finally be respected and left in bloody peace!

"Well, what are we waiting for boy!? Let's DO THIS!" Cease leaped to his feet with the revitalized energy of an Olympic gymnast, pain forgotten, and he looked into the night and his future with fierce determination, the flaring glow of the campfire dancing across his menacing grimace. Dawson flew backward in surprise at the rapid movement and stared up at the suddenly invigorated ranger with an expression containing more excitement than a little boy at a circus who just witnessed a trapeze artist fall screaming to his death.

"You mean you're not leaving?!" Dawson gasped, hardly daring to believe it.

"Of course not. Ganondalf would kill me." Cease replied sheepishly.

"Oh."

The two boys sat and stood in strange silence for a few moments, both trying to figure the other out. Though they didn't realize it at the time, at that moment a deep, mystical pact had been signed and sealed somewhere in the cosmos. From this day forth, their fates and destinies would be intertwined. Of course they both knew that they were going to be together for a while, but none could have possibly understood the gravity of what that entailed. For at that moment, Frederick M. Cease had officially become Dawson's first party member. And they, the warrior and ranger, would be companions for life.

"So... are you hungry?" Dawson asked, finally breaking the silence.

"Famished. What have you got?"

Dawson beckoned for Cease to follow him to a spot near the fire where a large, worn, leather bag sat open next to a bedroll. After eagerly motioning for the older man to take a seat, he giddily went about digging within the sack's contents. "Now there's only one thing I know how to make, but its my absolute favorite, so I figured, why bother with anything else? Of course you're a ranger, so I'm sure you'll be able to find all sorts of wild plants and such. Oh! And since we're picking up a girl, she'll know how to cook anything!"

"I must say, I am looking forward to that," Cease said with a contented smile. Maybe she'll be interested in considerably older men...

"Here we are!" Dawson triumphantly lifted a beige cloth out of the bag and handed it to Cease. The ranger gingerly and curiously unwrapped it, then held the unveiled meal out in his hands. He gazed down at it, finding himself at a loss for words.

"Peanut butter and jelly sandwiches!" Dawson cheered loudly, proudly, and gleefully.

"You're joking."

Dawson was taken aback by this response and got a little nervous. "No. Why?"

Cease grinned and his eyes glimmered. "Its my favorite too!"

Dawson gaped at the brightly smiling ranger and there was a momentary pause between them.

"Did we just become best friends?" Dawson asked.

"Yup," Cease replied. He took a happy bite out of his sandwich. Dawson was thrilled.

"I just knew this was going to be great! I can't believe it! Oh! Wait till you see what else I've got!" He hastily reached back into the pack. "I figured that since we'd be camping a lot, we would absolutely have to have this!" From within the pack, Dawson delightedly produced a clear plastic bag stuffed with large, mouthwatering, fluffy Stayeth Puft marshmallows.

"No way!" Cease exclaimed from behind a mouthful of peanut butter. He took the bag for closer examination. "They still make these?"

"And look what else!" Dawson handed him a dark brown package.

"Horsey's Chocolate? My boy, I may have judged you as an incompetent fop when I first met you, but I can't not respect a man who prepares so well for a journey. This feels... I don't know, it just reminds of when I was a boy. Me and my dad, we'd...." Suddenly, a small trickle of water developed in Cease's left eye and his voice faltered. "Oh dear. I'm sorry, I don't know what that's all about..." He wiped at the welling.

Dawson reached over and planted a hand on Cease's shoulder, looking him straight in the eye with an expression of profound empathy. He smiled. "Its okay my good man. Let it out. I always do."

Cease nodded absently, the water now beginning to flow steadily. "Yes. So I noticed."

And so the two men spent a few happy minutes camping. They mostly exchanged cheerful idle banter, though they did share a tale or two from their childhoods. Dawson had only gone recreational camping with his family once before, and that had actually turned out rather miserable. Cease went into a little detail about how camping was what first got him interested in the outdoors. He tried mentioning his father again, but couldn't get another word out without falling apart. Dawson politely assured him that it was all right, that they didn't have to talk about it now. There would be plenty of time while on their journey to share personal stories.

Then, all of a sudden, off to the side of them Dawson's chestnut horse raised its head and perked up its ears. Dawson continued chattering away obliviously, but Cease noticed the change immediately. He held out a hand for Dawson to shush. The boy complied.

There it was again: a rustle somewhere within the woods. Dawson had to strain his ears to pick up on it, and on any other occasion would have dismissed the sound as nothing. Cease, however, was reacting a little differently. Footstep, light. Barefoot and unburdened. Size... 2 or 3? Peculiar. Disturbed shrub, most likely black-berry. Snapped pine cone and crushed oak twig underfoot. Direction headed: Here.

While Cease closed his eyes and downloaded all this information with uncanny focus and accuracy, the only thing Dawson could tell was that the noise was becoming louder and nearer. He nervously glanced at the ranger.

Cease opened an eye. "Weapons?"

"Dah, um--"

Without warning, a blurred mass of tangled fur and shrubbery burst from the treeline at full sprint made a beeline for Dawson and Cease. Dawson screamed like a little girl and Cease jumped into the air with a startled, manly yelp. The creature shrieked, its arms raised and poised to strike.

"AHH!! Don'tyoudarecomeanycloserbitchorIwillnothesitatetokiiiillyou!" In his haste to prepare himself from the sudden attack, Cease found himself instinctively reacting in a way much less under control than he would have liked, which consisted of him speaking unintentionally fast out of fear, balancing precariously on one leg while he brought the other one up in a pitiful effort to safeguard his sensitive spots, and balling his fists to defend his face. Dawson simply opted to throw himself in the fetal position. But then they realized the creature wasn't shrieking a battle cry, and its arms weren't raised to attack. They were covering its face, and it was saying "DON'T KILL ME! DON'T KILL ME!!"

Yet for some unintelligible reason the thing continued running straight for them, so Cease was left with no choice but to step aside at the last second and close-line it. As the monster lay conked-out on the ground, Dawson took a peek out from under his arms, then sprang to his feet in horror and joined Cease as they stared, mouths agape, down at the half-man, half-goat.

"I do believe in fairies." Cease muttered under his breath, quite thoroughly bewildered.

"I AM NOT A FAIRY!" The little goat-man jumped up, wide awake and eyes blazing wildly. His breathing was wheezy and ragged, and the poor fellow was tweaking out like crazy. The top half of him looked about forty-years old, his head bearing a wispy, gnarled beard full of twigs. The crop of his hair was in a nearly identical state, and his pudgy face was blistery red. His belly was plump, perhaps from too much time spent at the pub, and naturally fuzzy. He stared up at Cease, which due to his current legs issue put him at a bit of a vertical deficiency (he was perhaps only an inch taller than Dawson), and fumed. Cease raised a bemused eyebrow.

"You my friend, are a few hairs short of a jackass, and I do mean that quite literally as much as otherwise."

"IT WAS THAT WITCH! THAT DOGGONE WITCH! She turned us all into dumb BEASTS! I got turned into a GOAT! She's going to EAT US!" the little man raged.

"Nonsense. Why would she turn you into a goat if she was going to eat you? You don't eat goats. You milk them." Dawson made a face at that, but Cease didn't notice. "Besides, how on earth could you be here now? And you're only half goat anyway. Explain that one, Tumnus!" Cease said in an "in-your-face" tone.

The goat-man sighed in annoyance. "I ESCAPED! Her spell misfired and I ran away! She jumped us right when we got to the door, froze us in place and then decided what she'd turn us into! See, I'm smart, I knew she missed me with the freeze spell, but I pretended I was stuck so when she was busy alakazam-ing the others into entrees, I made like a tree and got outta dodge! But just as I made it into the forest she bippity-boppity-booed at me and the spell hit a tree, bounced off, and struck me in the drawers!" He shook his head dubiously. "Never woulda' guessed transfiguration hexes ricochet."

"But why would she want to eat you?" Dawson asked, confused. The goat-man let out a frustrated groan and started jumping up and down so violently it looked like the blood vessels in his neck would burst.

"THAT'S WHAT I'M TRYING TO TELL YOU! She's gonna eat the girl! That barmaid! That old witch was rambling about it while we were frozen! At midnight she's going to have a feast, and the main course is the girl's HEART! Said it'll make her young again! Kept going on about how we'll make excellent side dishes, which is absolutely ridiculous if you ask me...."

While Mr. Goat continued to babble, Dawson and Cease flashed their gazes at each other. In an instant their horrified expressions registered, and they knew what they had to do. Once again, Cease reasoned that no idiot could make up a story like that, and Dawson was absolutely mortified by the prospect of letting a damsel get her heart eaten on his watch. Only, Cease was the one with the watch. The ranger brought up his wrist to his face and checked the time on the gritty face of the 1429 Rollex. He quickly looked down at Dawson.

"10:47," he said shortly. Dawson gasped. "We haven't a moment to lose."

Without another word they bolted for their horses, leaving the goat-man standing speechless. Dawson seized his bed and bag of PB&J's before hastily readying his steed. Cease was already gallantly astride his own dappled paint while the boy scrambled to prop up a stool and struggle into the stirrups--while the horse was still sitting. The moment Dawson was ready, the two sped off, leaving the fire, the campsite, and the goat-man behind without a second glance.

"HEY!! WHAT ABOUT ME!" The angry fellow shouted. Flustered and pouting, he collapsed on his furry hind-quarters and humphed. Then something caught his eye, which lit up delightedly.

"MARSHMALLOWS!"

To Be Continued in Chapter 3: A Cake and a Soft Place.