Chapter 12: Chapter Twelve – For Mother

Once, when Wroth was nine years old, he awoke within the small cave where he, his mother, and his siblings often slept. Glancing around with drowsy gray and black eyes, the boy could not find Rancorous.

Curious as to where she might have gone, he left his younger brothers and sisters where they slept and crept out of the cavern to search for her. However, after many hours of seeking, he still could not find his mother anywhere.

With growing concern, the boy sat down upon the massive black chair that his father had made many years before. Looking tiny within this giant throne-like seat, Wroth gazed over at the one place where he had not searched for his mother.

Because he now greatly feared and hated his father, Wroth was, at first, unwilling to enter the den of Calamitous. Moreover, he could never imagine that Rancorous would go into the gray-Ancient’s cave, but he had no idea where else to look, and so he sat with a hopeless expression upon his gray face.

As Wroth gazed at the dark opening of his father’s den, an angry resolve slowly swelled within his young heart. Feeling a stirring of courage, the boy decided to sneak into the cave and look for his mother.

With caution borne from terror, Wroth crept into his father’s den for the second time. Thus, he soon found his mother sleeping next to the giant form of Calamitous. The man’s huge arm was slung over her naked body as he too lay in slumber. His deep rhythmic breathing rumbled and echoed within the massive chamber.

With a trembling heart, Wroth tried to rouse his mother without also awakening Calamitous. This only produced a groan from Rancorous, and even though she opened her eyes, she made no effort to rise out of the bed, for her gaze was distant and blank as if her mind was not fully awake.

Carefully, Wroth strained to lift his father’s massive arm off of his mother. The attempt caused Calamitous to growl drowsily and then turn over on his other side with his back to Rancorous and his son.

Taking advantage of this, the boy pulled his mother out of the bed and draped her torn garment over her withered form. Then, with great effort, he led her out of the dark cavern. As they went, she leaned heavily upon him, and because of this, the going was slow and difficult.

When they had finally come out of his father’s den, Wroth reached up and anxiously patted the pale gaunt face of Rancorous.

“Mother?!?” Wroth gasped with obvious worry. “Are you well?!? Did he hurt you?!?”

She mouthed unspoken words as a tendril of tar-colored drool ran down her pointed chin. Her once-white teeth were now discolored by the same black juice.

“Mother?!?” the boy repeated with growing alarm as he shook her again, but still it seemed she could not wake.

Struggling under her boney frame, Wroth slowly guided Rancorous back to their den. As soon as they came inside, his mother crumpled down into their bed of dried leaves, and there, she remained in a mindless stupor.

Days passed by until Rancorous finally began to come out of her unnatural slumber, and even before her mind had fully returned, she was met by a volley of hastily asked questions.

“Why were you in my father’s cave?” Wroth inquired with a bewildered tone. “Did he force you to go inside? Why were you acting so strangely? What did you eat that stained your teeth? Why were you naked?!?”

Rancorous massaged her brow and groaned. She felt far too ill to answer all of her son’s questions. Though the initial effects of the black mushrooms had worn off, the discomfort that lingered made her nauseous, and her head pounded painfully with every beat of her heart.

After shushing Wroth’s loudly asked questions, Rancorous tried to answer, but even her own whispering voice made her cringe with agony. Exerting great effort, she explained.

“Long ago, the monster stole me away from my home, and he bewitched me with his magic mushrooms. Now, from time to time, the urge to eat the mushrooms again becomes so strong that I feel I will die if I do not,” she groaned with pain. “Now please, ask me no more questions!”

Wroth left his mother to rest and recover. He went out and sat upon his father’s stone chair. As he watched the den of Calamitous, he pondered the words of his mother.

“Magic mushrooms?” he muttered.

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Very slowly, a plan came into his young mind. Thus, he waited for his father to leave his den. Days passed and stretched out into weeks until finally, Calamitous stomped out of his home with an empty sack thrown over his shoulder.

Stealthily, the boy followed his father at some distance hiding behind boulders and the great pillars as he went.

The giant man weaved his way through the enormous shafts of gray stone until he came to another large cave in the side of one of the pillars. After looking around to make sure he had not been followed, Calamitous disappeared into the shadows of the cavern.

Wroth waited in hiding until his father finally reappeared.

Once more, the gray-Ancient glanced around, and seeing no one, he came out into the open, but now, the sack he carried was no longer empty. After peeking inside, Calamitous slung it over his shoulder and made his way back to his den.

When he was sure that his father had gone, Wroth came out from his hiding place and crept into the cave to see what secrets it held within its shadows. As the curious boy came into the main chamber, his nose was suddenly assailed by an awful smell that made him retch his breakfast onto the floor.

Wiping his mouth, Wroth struggled to venture further into the cavern, and so he soon came to the back of the chamber where he discovered that countless rotting carcasses were laid out upon the cave’s floor. It was not difficult for him to realize that it was these dead things that produced the horrible stench. Among the lifeless beasts were the bones of a long dead Lion.

Pinching his nose, Wroth drew even closer, and in this way, he saw the black mushrooms growing amid the dead. The small pitch-colored fungi seemed to thrive upon the rotting creatures.

Picking one of the mushrooms, Wroth hastily ran back to his mother. As soon as he burst into their den, he almost shouted his question. “Is this one of the mushrooms that you sometimes crave?”

Rancorous gazed at the half-grown black toadstool and then nodded gravely. “Where did you find it?”

“Among many others that grow in a nearby cave,” her son explained. “And now that I know where they grow, you will never need to go to my father for them again.”

She kissed Wroth’s gray brow. “Thank you, my dearest son, for now you have broken his power over me!”

Wroth grinned and then strolled proudly out of their den. Returning to his father’s stone chair, the boy gazed at the mushroom he had picked. After a few seconds of consideration, he threw the mushroom into his mouth.

The taste was earthy, and he soon felt as though his mind was being stretched. Next, his head swam with dizziness, and his flesh tingled with what he imagined must be magical power. Seconds later, he was sure that some part of him rose up out of his body and floated off upon the wind.

So it was that Wroth too began to regularly eat the black mushrooms, and he also gave them to his brothers and sisters. At the same time, he began to lord over his siblings so that they could do nothing except he gave them permission, and his mother supported him in this behavior.

“He is the true lord of Fangland!” she would hiss. “You must do as he says!”

Thus, he began to add to the misery of his brothers and sisters, for they were forced to serve his every whim, and as he came into adolescence, this began to include more sensual desires.

If any of his siblings dared to disobey him, his punishment was swift and brutal, for he was the largest of the children.

 

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