Amazon Expedient Read online

  Amazon Expedient

  Piers Anthony

  And

  Kenneth Kelly

  Amazon Expedient

  Copyright © 2018 by Piers Anthony and Kenneth Kelly

  All stories are copyright of their respective creators as indicated herein, and are reproduced here with permission.

  Cover Art & Design

  Mitchell Bentley, Atomic Fly Studios

  Interior Formatting

  Niki Browning

  Editors

  Kristi King-Morgan

  Rebecca Fox

  MJ Hendry

  Editor-in-Chief

  Kristi King-Morgan

  All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof

  may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever

  without the express written permission of the publisher

  except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Printed in the United States of America

  First Printing, 2018

  ISBN-13: 978-1-947381-06-3

  ISBN-10: 1-947381-06-7

  Dreaming Big Publications

  www.dreamingbigpublications.com

  Other Books in This Series

  Virtue Inverted

  Amazon Expedient

  Magenta Salvation

  (Forthcoming)

  Contents

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Epilogue

  Author’s Note: Piers Anthony

  Author’s Note: Kenneth Kelly

  About the Authors

  Prologue

  Toadstool Tortoise was, as his name implies, a large walking, talking tortoise. In other worlds, a walking, talking animal would be very out of place, but in Gold Mulch Wood, this sort of thing is quite normal. The Pawben met Toadstool when he first came to the Wood and the two quickly struck up a friendship. The little Beranger boy was just a baby at the time, and the Pawben was in a strange new world; naturally, he was quite startled to come across a creature such as the tortoise. It seemed to Pawben that the world he had come to, of which Gold Mulch Wood was but a small part, was a land of dreams and fairy tales. Things deemed impossible in many of the worlds he had previously visited had been spit out and collected here. He’d come to this world in order to save Dale Beranger’s grandson from the horrors of his forefathers' homeland, in order to raise him in a peaceful, loving environment away from the likes of mercenaries, fallen inter-dimensional angels, vampires, werewolves, assassins, Sky Titans, and countless other beings that had made Pawben’s life so hard. To be honest, Pawben stumbled across his current homestead quite on accident, as his self-named “world jumping,” had gotten rusty in his advanced years. He wanted to take the boy back to Lower Sultry, Dan, and the land of his ancestors, but this present Wood was so peaceful that he doubted he’d live up to his intentions. Now, he trotted with long beard, bent back and bowed legs as the blond boy in the red felt cap ran circles around him with the little-big rat, Flack, clinging to his shoulder.

  “Run faster, Pawben!” the boy yelled.

  “I gladly will, if you’d care to trade bodies with me.”

  They eventually came to a little trail leading into the trees which led to a little house shaped like a huge white and red mushroom. Pawben saw the little welcome sign hanging on the little crooked door in the fat white stalk of the building, and was relieved that he’d be able to rest his feet. The door opened and Toadstool, wearing an apron and chef’s hat, peeked his head out.

  “Lateness is rudeness!” he shouted.

  “What’s the rush? Got a hot date?” Pawben responded.

  The boy ran around Pawben and hugged Toadstool tightly, his little hands groping around the back of the tortoise's shell. The rat, glad to flee the boy's shoulder, ran up Toadstool’s arm and across his shell. The tortoise yelled and danced a jig trying to get the rat off him.

  “Get this vermin off me!” he screamed.

  “You’re asking this rude old man for help? That’s wishful thinking,” Pawben said, walking around them into the house. The rat jumped off and followed him over the threshold.

  “Where’s dinner?” the old man asked. Toadstool came into the living room, following the boy, and pointed at the rat.

  “I’m half tempted to cook him!”

  “Ol’ Flack’s harmless, but I won’t be if you don’t stick a plate of edibles in front of me. You know how I turn into the wicked witch of the west when I don’t eat.” Pawben said, tapping his staff on the wooden floor.

  “Ok, grandma! Don’t get your knickers in a twist.”

  Pawben giggled under his breath. They liked giving each other a hard time. He glanced around the room at the familiar sights. Toadstool was almost 5 feet tall, so the house was furnished to fit the average human. The bottom floor, which was the stalk, was living room, kitchen and dining room. A small staircase wound itself up into the cap of the mushroom, which doubled as a bedroom and private library. At the little table in the middle of the room, Toadstool had three plates, cutlery, and cups set out for his guests. Pawben and the boy sat down as Toadstool brought around a plate of cucumber sandwiches. The boy frowned and crossed his arms.

  “I no like cucumber sandwiches!” he pouted.

  “I know, which is why I made you this.” Toadstool turned back to the kitchen counter and brought around a loaf of banana nut bread. The boy smiled from ear to ear and rubbed his hands together. He didn’t even wait for the tortoise to pour them all a round of cider before tearing into the delicious treat. Pawben took a petite little sandwich wedge and took a bite. The cucumber was sliced extra thin the way he liked it, and he closed his eyes as he savored the wine-soaked cheese both he and the tortoise were so fond of. He washed it down with some cider and burped.

  “Taste it twice!” The tortoise laughed.

  Pawben noticed Flack looking at him from the floor by his feet, and despite that he’d warned the boy about feeding the animal table scraps in Toadstool’s presence, he ripped off a piece of bread from his sandwich and tossed it to the rodent.

  “Come on, man!” The tortoise rushed to grab the scrap but the rat was too quick, “If I let one animal eat from the table, pretty soon all kinds of animals will be begging me for food.”

  “You ARE an animal eating from the table, turtle boy, or did you forget?” Pawben smiled.

  “I’m a tortoise, thank you very much.” The turtle sat back down.

  They continued munching while Toadstool complained about Flack. After catching the rat trying to crawl underneath his couch, Pawben made a comment without thinking.

  “You know, that rat’s almost as much of a nuisance as the real Flack was,” Pawben said.

  “No I don’t know…You’ve mentioned this mysterious Flack about a hundred times since I met you, and you’ve never told me a word about him.” Toadstool wiped his green mouth and leaned back in his chair, which had a concave backing to accommodate his shell.

  “Yeah, Pawben, tell story!” the boy shouted, bouncing eagerly in his chair and breadcrumbs falling from his mouth.

  “I don’t know if you’re old enough, yet. It’s not a nice story to tell,” Pawben said. He took another bite of his sandwich and prayed the conversation would move in a different dire
ction. He had already decided that if he did tell the tale, it would be in his usual style, from third person perspective. It was for the boy’s benefit, rather than Toadstool’s, who already knew Pawben’s true identity. He would reveal the truth about both himself and the boy’s grandfather, Dale Beranger, once the lad was older.

  “Oh, pollywog! When I was his age, I was already hunting with my pa.” Toadstool said, “Tell us the story, the lad can handle it.”

  “I guess you two aren’t gonna leave me alone until I do. Well, it’s a long, complicated tale. Get comfortable.” Pawben motioned for the trio to move from the dining table to the couch, “I’ve told you both, to an extent, about how Benny Clout met Dale Beranger, Cycleze and Virtue, and how Benny and the latter helped Dale overcome his inner demons and follow a life of good deeds and service to others. Five years had passed relatively uneventfully since Benny had watched Dale and Nadia leave Gant to begin their lives together, not long after which he and Virtue got married.”

  “Wait, Pawben…I thought you were gonna tell us about the real Flack!” The boy looked quizzically at the old man.

  “Flack is an integral part of this story, but he’s far from the only important character. During the course of this tale, you will hear of other people, both men and women, human and non-human, good and evil; they have all affected my…err…Benny’s life significantly.”

  The boy grabbed the rat and placed him in his lap, looking up at his guardian with the same awestruck face he always had when listening to one of Pawben’s stories.

  “But yes, boy, I’ll tell you about Flack.”

  Chapter 1

  Maniacal laughter sounded as the green orb filled Benny’s vision. It seemed as if he was frozen in stasis, unable to move his body or avert his gaze from the symbol of evil that burned into his head. Tentacles of ice wrapped around his arms, legs, chest and throat, choking the life out him. Still the laughter continued. The green orb became clear and Benny realized that it was a single, giant eye, the pupil throbbing and pulsating with the eerie light. He was in agony, but he couldn’t scream or even whimper. A voice like raging thunder filled his ears, and Benny’s fear was made complete.

  “You’ll never stop us,” it said, “we’re coming!”

  “No!” Benny screamed.

  He nearly jumped out of his skin as he erupted from the covers of his bed. The scar on both sides of his mouth was aching severely and he was drenched in cold sweat, breathing as if he’d just run 14 miles through the steepest passes of the Gant Mountains. It was dark at first, and he feared that he had awoken from one nightmare only to appear in another, but soon his eyes adjusted and he saw that he was in his own familiar room at the Fox Den. Falling back onto his pillow, the young man realized the body which so often slept next to his was now absent. It was still night, as Benny deducted by two mirrored crescent moons, one blue and the other green as they shone their light through the window on the other side of the room. Benny looked around, and was relieved to see his wife sitting at a table in the far corner of the room, her face buried in a thick book about telepathy, squinting in the dim candlelight. She saw his frightened look and left her studies to sit beside him on the bed. She held his sweaty head gently against her bosom, his sweat being absorbed by her nightgown.

  “It’s the same dream, Virtue,” he said.

  “It’s only a dream, love,” she said, stroking his hair, “They don’t mean anything.”

  Benny knew Virtue was only saying this to comfort him. Dreams were not something to be taken for granted, as Virtue had often told Benny in the past. As an extra means of income, she often interpreted dreams and visions, not excluding those of herself and Benny, to make predictions about the future. Nothing serious was ever exposed, but Benny’s recurring dreams had been the first Virtue had ever failed to decipher using her newly developed skills of telepathy. Benny could not use these same means of extrasensory perception that Virtue had recently learned, but he knew when she was being insincere.

  “You know that’s not true, Virtue. It’s the exact same terrible vision, over and over again-- the same green eye… the same voice…the tentacles, choking me…”

  “Just because I can’t decode your subconscious doesn’t mean they’re anything to worry about. My studies have even told me that not all dreams transmit foresights or prophecies, and you do drink a lot of that special cider with Jack at dinner.” She smiled at the last comment. Benny was not an alcoholic, but he was fond of Jack’s spiked cider, which had been known to cause hallucinations.

  “Maybe so…still, I worry,” he said.

  “Then let me do the worrying,” she replied. She leaned over Benny and passionately pressed her warm lips against his. After being married for almost 5 years, her kisses still made Benny weak at the knees, even though he was lying down. She continued to rock him as a cool breeze wafted in from the nighttime mountain air. The pain of Benny’s scar began to dissipate and he closed his eyes. The dream didn’t come back.

  Chapter 2

  During the years since he’d last seen Dale and Nadia, Benny had grown significantly in stature. From the scrawny, effeminate 5’7” he’d been when he’d first fought Dale, Benny had sprouted to a muscular 6’1”. He’d let his hair grow somewhat since he’d shaved his head at the request of the dying Cycleze, but not nearly as long as it had been, and its silvery-blond hue had darkened to a sandy brown. He kept it slicked back and tucked behind his ears, and because of the pain it caused him to shave, he usually sported a scraggly beard except for very special occasions. The pain was largely due to an attempt to have the scar repaired about a year after Dale left, and the traveling surgeon Benny had hired had reduced the size of his mouth to what it had been, but had somehow unnaturally folded the skin when sewing it up. Ever since then, his mouth was easily irritated. He couldn’t even sleep on his side anymore because of the pressure the pillow would place against the scar, inflaming it. Everyone had warned him to leave it alone, but in his vanity he’d hoped he could somewhat regain his former looks. This didn’t stop Benny from continuing his life, though.

  Benny realized after his two duals with Dale that he lacked proper skills in sword fighting. Therefore, he enlisted Laughing Jack Baldwin, his friend and proprietor of the Fox Den Inn and Tavern, to train with him. Jack had been a magnificent swordsman in his younger days, even boasting that he had once bested Dale in a friendly dual. However, years of inactivity at the inn and a bad knee had greatly reduced his skills. Still, he was more than enough for Benny to handle, who longed for the day he could best Jack in a fight. It took several years, but that day finally came.

  “I’ve gotcha now, boy!” Jack screamed.

  “Dream on, grandpa!” Benny retorted.

  Jack came at Benny with a long, arching swipe which Benny met with his own wooden training sword, sidestepping as Jack stumbled past. Benny countered off the block with a strike aimed at Jack's neck, but the old man had some agility left after all, and raised a block just in time. They continued locking swords in the clearing behind the river, behind the main building of the Inn. Kids sometimes came to watch their training, but not on this day, which allowed the two to step things up a notch.

  “Not bad, kid,” Jack said, faking a blow to Benny’s head and redirecting it at his knees, “Just be grateful I got this bum leg.”

  “Or that sack of flour around your waist!” Benny yelled. He locked swords and came in close to Jack before pushing off and throwing a spinning back-foot kick some foreigner had taught him a week before. It caught Jack square in the solar plexus, but the old man had trained himself to expel the air from his lungs before such a blow. It still stung though, and while he did his best to reduce his injury, Benny’s kick caused him to pause for a split second.

  “Aha!” Benny shouted.

  As strong as Benny had gotten, Jack’s age and experience had ingrained a natural stamina Benny didn’t yet have. This particular match had been going on for almost 20 minutes so far, one of their longes
t bouts, and Benny’s arms and legs were tired. Jack had landed a few solid punches and elbows of his own. However, unbeknownst to him, Jack was thinking the exact opposite: that it was he that was near the point of exhaustion. Then, Jack went all out. He slashed at Benny from every direction; vertical, horizontal, slashing, stabbing, and throwing as many kicks with his good leg as he could muster. Benny was completely flustered. The times Jack had unleashed flurries like this before, Benny would always give up or “die.” He knew Jack couldn’t last long in this state, and hoped he could ride it out. Finally, Jack seemed to stop in mid-strike. He was breathing heavier than Benny had ever heard him, and in the split second it took him to react, Benny knocked Jack’s sword out of the way and then moved low, pulling Jacks bad leg out from under him with what would be the flat edge of the blade. It connected right at his ankle, and in a split second Jack was on his back with the point of the wooden sword at his neck.

  “Want any more?” Jack said between short, strong breaths.

  “No…I give up.” Benny responded.

  He stuck the wooden sword back in his belt and lifted Jack to his feet. After a few seconds of leaning on his friend, Jack caught his breath and started laughing. Benny rolled his eyes and walked his mentor back to the dining hall. Benny had finally bested his friend, but rather than be elated, he was sad that Jack had aged so much in the last five years. When they first started training, Jack seemed invincible. Soon, Benny doubted Jack would be able to keep up with him. They walked into the dining hall and sat down at a nearby table.

  “My stomach’s in my throat,” Jack inhaled sharply. “Since when did you learn to kick like that?”

  “That foreigner, Kang. He taught me a few other tricks, too. I could show you if you want?” Benny smirked.

  “No, I think my fighting days are just about over. I thought me sparring with you would get me back into shape, but I think my body’s beginning to fall apart.” Benny’s heart sank. Jack really was getting old.