The Swimmer and the Demon Worshipper

[Chase]

This is a continuation of a story, please read previous post before this one.


The Swimmer and the Demon Worshipper, chapter 5, by Chase TheQueerXX


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Chapter 5

 

I had never seen so much shit in my life. What felt like hours went by of me just shoveling manure out of the stables. The wagon was filling up to the brim. I started to feel some sense of pride in the stalls I cleared out, but every time a little speck of the manure spilled on me, I felt like vomiting, especially when a clump somehow managed to get in my mouth. It was great that the horses at least had a shit-free stall, but I shouldn’t be doing it. I mean, I was destined to be an Olympic swimmer.

            Orla came in. “Well it looks like the fool can shovel manure, impressive.”

            “Will you stop calling me that! I know stuff that would blow your mind.”

            A horse whinny filled the barn. I jumped back. Orla laughed. “It blows my mind that you’re afraid of horses.” She stepped aside. “Come on Dash. Go see the lad who cleaned your bed up.” A horse walked into the barn. I ran into a stall and shut the door.

            Orla laughed. She called the horse over to the wagon and strapped him in. “Noah, get in the wagon before I call the next horse over.”

            I went to the wagon and sat in the front seat. Orla called another horse over and I watched carefully as she strapped it in. There was more to it than what they showed in the movies, and I’m sure it was even harder than it looked. She got in the wagon and the two horses pulled us and the manure forward.

            “What are we doing with the manure?” I asked.

            “Taking it to the trading post,” said Orla. “Normally we’d just spread it around our fields to keep it fertile, but Mr. Yang offered us a quick buck to make before nightfall. We’ll need to buy extra supplies now that you’ll be boarded up with us.”

            “Who’ll buy the manure?”

            “Probably any vegetable farmer who would rather lose money to a middle man than have to deal with us.”

            We came back to the trading post. It was amazing how those two horses were able to pull so much weight. Mr. Yang had us go to the side of the building to dump it. There was a lot more people coming in and out of the store and up and down the road.

            Orla lowered the back of the wagon and growled. “You only brought one shovel?”

            “I didn’t think we’d need it. Can’t you just tip the wagon over and drive forward?”

            Orla smacked her own face with the palms of her hands and slowly dragged them down. “You have got to be joking me. Noah, how much of the Crossing water did you drink? You know what, just, forget it. You do the shoveling then unless you want to be the one who has to do the laundry.”

            “Actually,” I said, “I’d rather do the laundry, if you don’t mind.”

            “That’s not happening,” said Orla.

            “Why not? Because I’m a man?”

            “You’re far from a man, and no, you’re not doing the laundry because I’d rather wash your undergarments than you wash mine.”

            “Why can’t we just wash it separately?”

            “Because that’d waste water! Just stop arguing with me Noah and start shoveling. My father offered you a place on the farm so just do as you’re told to earn your dinner.”

            Sweat dripped across my eyebrows as I shoveled it out. It was a lot easier than shoveling it in, but I was in a shaded barn then, not outside in the sun. “Noah,” said Orla, “I need to use the outhouse. Don’t get in trouble while I’m gone.”

            Orla left me and I continued shoveling. Samuelson and three goonish hillbillies passed by carrying stakes of animals they must have hunted. One was the carcass of a boar and the other an alien creature that was equal in size but had the body of a toad and legs of a caterpillar.

Samuelson stopped and pointed at me. “There, shoveling. That’s him! That’s the mad man!”

            “Well I say,” said one of them in mock posh accent, “a Thulthie with the dandiest haircut shoveling manure. That’s the queerest thing I ever saw.”

            “Oh for fuck’s sake,” I said. “Get lost before I fling this shit right at you.”

            Samuelson laughed. “When I first saw you I thought for sure you were a swindling partner to that cursed wuss.” He snorted. “Nope! You’re a dung shoveler!”

            “I swear to God if Mr. Yang didn’t want us fighting in front of his shop, I’d fling this shit right at you. You’re laughing now, but I know a bunch of shit that’d have you people worshipping me like a god.”

            Samuelson and his companions laughed. A middle-age redheaded woman and her bald, curly mustached husband walked by. Despite it being sunny, the woman was carrying an umbrella in a typical classy, Victorian manner. She pointed it at me and said, “Young man, that is most blasphemous. Only Lord Thulthdignagon can bestow godhood onto mortals.”

            I climbed up on the wagon and stood high. “It’s true! Everyone here is working way harder than they should. I mean, look at this horse drawn wagon? We could be using cars and trucks instead.”

            The middle-aged man with a curly mustache shook his head. “Don’t be a fool. My great grandmother was born right around when the Crossing Waters flooded, and nobody’s reinvented the train since then. As far as I’m concerned it was a myth.”

            “I’m not talking about trains,” I said. “I mean it’d be like driving a wagon like what I’m standing on with no horses. And there’s more. We could have lightbulbs in our home instead of candles, where with a flick of a switch, your entire house will light up.”

            Samuelson laughed. “Oh great demons this queer boy is mad! Please let him keep talking!”

            “Well,” said the woman with the umbrella, “tell us then. How do we light up our homes with these so-called lightbulbs?”

            “You just need this thing called electricity,” I said.

            “And where,” said the man with the curly mustache, “are we supposed to get electricity?”

            “Um, well ”¦” I took the glove off my right hand and scratched my head. “Uhh, you could build a windmill.”

            One of Samuelson’s goons chuckled and said, “The Flanigans have a windmill! All it does is grind grain. They ain’t got no electrity.”

            “Well it has to be a special windmill,” I said.

            The man rolled his eyes. “Ohh, a magical windmill. Of course. How do we make a magical windmill, eh?”

            “Well, um, you ”¦ uhhh, I think there’s something to do with, um, well ”¦ I don’t know.”

            The middle-aged couple shook their heads while Samuelson and his friends laughed hysterically. “All right,” grumbled the man, “shows over. Back to work. You too Samuelson. You can be entertained by the fool’s ramblings on the first half days, not the seconds.”

            Samuelson and his friends walked away from me snickering and making fun of me. I couldn’t believe it. Shit, how do you make electricity? Fuck, I guess I can’t just invent a bunch of modern stuff and get rich in this world. There goes my theory about being sent here to save these people. Then that can only mean I’m here by ”¦ I don’t know, some accident or punishment. An accident sounded just as worse. I was going to be an Olympic swimmer, have a body everyone would worship, win medals and get rich ”“ and now I’m trapped in this crazy place.

            “Noah.” It was Pasha’s voice. I turned around. He was staring up at me as I stood on the wagon like an idiot. “Noah, I’m going to church to pray. A monk is letting me ride with him in his chaise. Please stay with the O’Connors. Can you promise me this?”

            “Uhh, sure Poshey. I won’t leave their sight.”

            “Good.” He put his hands in a triangle. “May the demons watch over you.” He walked towards a small carriage that had two large wheels and was drawn by one horse. A robed monk was sitting in it and held the reigns. As he scooted over for Pasha, he gave me a strange, distrustful look. He turned his head back towards the road and gave the reins a whip. The carriage took off, shrinking into the distance.

            I shoveled the rest of the manure out. Orla returned and set a bag in the front seat. “Can’t I leave you alone for just one second without you making a fool of yourself to the whole town?”

            “Just shut up Orla. Why were you so long, anyway? Did you fall into the outhouse or something?”

            “No, I was picking out clothes for you in the trading post. You can’t just wear Pasha’s. Some of these might be a little big for you but I’m sure you’re still growing.”

            “Gee, thanks mom. Why are you being so generous to me all of a sudden?”

            Orla sat in the front seat and clicked her tongue. The wagon sprang forward and I fell down in the bed of the wagon. I crawled into the front seat. “Just don’t hurt Pasha,” said Orla. “Vlhundrekon is already tough and cruel as it is. And be a hard worker on the O’Connor farm ”“ we have a lot of work to do so our animals will be safe by nightfall. Time is running out.”

 

”¦

 

Hours went by of hard farm work. Orla’s mother gave me a meat-filled biscuit and a glass of berry-flavored tea, but I didn’t take any other breaks unless I caught Orla taking one too. Her crabbiness and snotty jabs started to go down as I got us caught up on schedule. I don’t want to think about it, but I’m pretty sure she started checking me out once I took my frock off to not overheat as I carried the hay into the barn.

            The blue sky turned orange and the sun began to set. It grew chilly and I put the frock back on after all the hay was loaded in the barn. Mr. O’Connor came into the barn as me and Orla were prepping the stables.

            “You can put the pitchfork down now lad,” said Mr. O’Connor. “Thanks to you we’re all caught up for the long night. Orla, do you know where Pasha is?”

            Orla stopped raking straw and said, “No, I don’t. You mean he’s not with you or Mr. Yang?”

            “He’s not at his family’s cottage, is he? I’ve told him more than once I don’t want him spending the nights there.”

            “Oh,” I said, “at the trading post he told me he was going to church.”

            Mr. O’Connor growled. “Oh for the love of Jruckthokpk! Why would he go to church at such a late hour of the last half day?”

 

It’s alright Noah. You don’t have to be ashamed. Some people are just kissed by Urukon. I’ll go to church and ask the benevolent demons to bless you.

 

            I took my gloves off and bit my fingernails. Orla glanced at me. I glanced away. I ran my hand through the back of my hair. God damn it Pasha.

            Mr. O’Connor stomped his foot on the dirt floor. “I swear I’d paint his bottom red if he were my boy. His folks were always religious, but they were never that religious. Ugh, no time. Orla?”

            Orla was pulling her pigtails. She looked horrified. “Yes da?”

            “Get Skedaddle and Boots ready. Noah, help me wheel out the carriage.”

            I followed Mr. O’Connor to a carriage. It was different from the wagons I had rode in so far. It was finely handcrafted, with a painted finish and cushioned seats. We each grabbed a pole and dragged it outside. “Noah,” said Mr. O’Connor, “take down the roof top. Tell my daughter I’ll be back.”

            The sun was still setting. It sank slowly into the horizon. I folded up the roof so all the seats were exposed. It looked like there should be enough room for both me, Mr. O’Connor, Orla, and Pasha, although with Mr. O’Connor’s stalkiness we might be a bit cramped.

            Orla came over with two horses. She had me hold one of them by a leash while she strapped the first one in. Thankfully they didn’t step on me. Mr. & Mrs. O’Connor both came to us carrying supplies. Misses O’Connor was carrying lanterns that were already lit. Mr. O’Connor was carrying guns. He threw the guns in the carriage and said, “Are you good with guns, lad?”

            “Um, I fired a BB gun before.”

            Mr. O’Connor handed me rifle. It looked expensive, with silver engravings of demons and alien runes on it. He pointed to a tree. “Shoot that tree down yonder. The Vlhundrekon one, not the pine.”

            I aimed the gun at an alien tree and pulled the trigger. Bang! The gun kicked back and my ears rang. The bullet missed the tree and hit the ledge of the mesa behind it.

            “Close enough,” said Mr. O’Connor. “Take good care of it. It’s a Blankenhorn, there won’t be any more of those anymore.”

            “Are you coming with us?” asked Orla.

            “You know your mother doesn’t have the best eyesight,” said Mr. O’Connor. “One of us needs to guard the farm. If you go, you can take refuge if you run out of time.”

            I asked, “Why can’t Pasha stay overnight at this church place?”

            “I don’t know how they do it in New Dormcourt,” said Mr. O’Connor, “but at the Hidden Gorge Temple, only women, girls, and young boys can take refuge. Once your balls drop the priests don’t want you no more. Now get in, don’t waste any more time. Orla, go at a trot and only gallop them when you have to.”

            Orla got in the driver seat and I sat in the backseat. Orla waved the reins and the horses took off at a steady pace. The sun had set and it was now dusk. In the early dusk, the alien landscape twinkled in the soft glowing light. We rolled off the O’Connor farm, past the trading post and village square, and onto the open road.

            The lemon-colored grass grew sparser. The farther down the road we went, the sandier the ground became. Orla checked her pocket watch. “Well I hope you’re happy Noah. I can’t do the kind of math Pasha’s parents taught him, but I reckon we’ll get caught in the dark on the way home. Thanks a lot.”

            “It’s not like I told him to go pray for me past his curfew.”

            Orla spun her head around almost as good as an owl. She had a sarcastic, forced smile on her face. “Oh, so you do know that’s why he went to church on such a late last half day. You’re smarter than you pretend to be, aren’t you?”

            A tall needle of rocks came up ahead. The horses rode around it with no command. Orla’s pigtails swayed in the wind as she stared back at me. The carriage rocked and I grabbed onto the seat to stop myself from falling over. “I’m not pretending to be anything.”

            “Then what are you up to Noah? Who are you really? Why in Urukon’s lair did you just decide to show up and pry into our lives?”

            “I’m a swimmer, okay? That’s all I am. I was on my high school swim team and my psycho teammates didn’t like that I liked guys and was better than them, so they locked me in a fucking tunnel underneath a dam. I tried to swim out through it, and now I’m on this crazy alien planet.”

            “Ugh! Why couldn’t you have just taken your madness someplace else?”

            “How about Earth? Can I go back to Earth please?” I punched my fists into my seat and closed my eyes. “Please just take me back to Earth! I want to go back to Earth! I can’t stand this place anymore. I want to go back to Earth! I don’t care where, just anywhere but this place! I’m tired of being called a queer fool by you people. I miss getting called faggot and cock sucker, and even getting called queer where it meant I was a faggot and not just whatever you people mean by it. I’ll do anything, just get me out of this world!”

            I opened my eyes. Orla was staring at me with a disturbed look on her face. Boots and Skedaddle pulled us into the ruins of a temple complex that was built in-between the two parallel mesas. There were sophisticated buildings carved into the cliff sides. In the gorge, columns held up arches of now roofless buildings. Shafts of pillars laid broken off their pedestals and leaned against the cliffs. A stone ramp extended from one of the buildings that was carved into the cliffsides. Torches were lit along the ramp, casting fiery orange light in the waning dusk glow.

            Orla took a deep inhale through her nose. She looked up the ramp and exhaled. “Noah, just, go inside and get Pasha before nightfall. He’ll be in the men’s chambers, I’m not allowed in. Hurry.”

            I climbed out of the carriage. The sparkling glow of dusk was being replaced by shadows. I stepped on the stone ramp and looked at Orla. She was still staring at me. I turned back towards the ancient building ran up the ramp.

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To be continued