A Ferry Tale - Chapter Five

Chapter Five: Fairies or Farmlands?


	Boone's ferry, the kingdom ruled by King Boone. Oh, the name alone caused King Bradley Scholl to boil in anger. But, a promise was a promise, even if he was angry with a lady whom he had no reason to be angry with other than he felt the need to be angry with someone. After it had been revealed that Sherry was an outsider, Scholl went into one of his rooms and brought out a map that displayed the location of the three ferries.
	King Scholl wasn't angry with the boy, though perhaps he should be. After all, the laws were strict about such outsiders entering any of the ferries. Oh, but he remembered what he was like when he was young. Quite the troublemaker. It was a wonder how he even came into power. He certainly never wanted such a responsibility, after all.
	Well, as Sherry's grandmother said, at first King Scholl was a good king, until he realized that he would have to be responsible for many people. He disliked that feeling greatly. He just wish people could take care of themselves. But how could they with no resources and no money? And with the borders all closed up, they couldn't all just move to Boone's ferry. Besides, he hated that place because Boone ruled there.
	Sherry, upon receiving the map and placing it into his backpack, exited the castle, ready for the second of the three parts of his journey, and ultimately, the second to last portion. He was excited. If he could deliver the letter to Boone, he would only need to deliver one more letter. And how bad could Taylor be? They always do say, after all, that the best is saved for last...

	When Sherry had left, it was the ideal time for Bradley Scholl to read the letter that was given to him. He wanted some privacy, though. Away from his squire. He retreated to his bedroom, a place that he had only gone to when he wanted to go to bed, and he only ever wanted to go to bed when it was time for him to sleep. Not today, however. Today he had a special reason for going to his bedroom, and it wasn't for sleeping.
	He opened up the envelope, carefully, trying not to rip any of it to shreds, being as delicate as he could, as he too, was a delicate person. He unfolded the letter once reaching inside the envelope and read the contents. What was contained in the letter made him weep. The contents impacted him much more than the divorce papers ever could, ever would, even. There wasn't enough room for words to express just how the letter had impacted him other than the fact that when he wept it wasn't tears of sadness, but a bittersweet feeling. The feeling of being accepted, and knowing that despite the current bad times, that things could and would get better.
	When he emerged from out of his bedroom, he proudly announced to his squire, “Squire! Today I will pull back my soldiers from Boone's ferry and I will make my ferry a prosperous land once more! I will serve my people and their needs and best of all, I will be open to criticism!”
	The squire cheered and he embraced his king in a warm hug.

	However, all was not right in the world. King Boone was working the fields next to her barnyard castle in her ferry when she saw Scholls' soldiers pull out. She was grateful, no doubt. For too long her people had to defend themselves against the citizens serving the man that she secretly loved. But she couldn't take a sigh of relief just yet. Taylor's army was much more fearsome and was nigh obliterating all that Boone threw at them. Her days of being a king seemed numbered. The thought alone left her somber.
	She worked hard for her people and her people worked hard for her. She didn't want to lose all that she worked hard for, nor did she want her people to be lost to such a brutal war. Each day grew harder and harder to deal with, it seemed. Some days even her hardened heart couldn't deal with the sight of losing another one of her proud workers.
	Oh, dear Boone. She still hadn't fully realized the error of her ways and while she wanted the best for her people, she failed to notice how inhumane it was to turn humans into other monstrous animals and work them to death.
	Certain days, she did notice her feelings, and that was at least one thing that she noticed. She felt proud to be commanding such hard workers, she felt admiration to the ones who continued to show their best, even if they were falling apart internally. She also admired and adored the unkempt beauty of the not so hard worker, King Scholl. It was hard to place where or why her attraction lie. After all, she loved hard work and she herself was a hard worker, and, well, she heard plenty about what King Scholl was like.
	But perhaps it was because of how he was like that caused her to adore him so. He did work hard, and he was intelligent, just not in the way that she was used to. She admired his artistic ability, his simplistic view on things, and the not so simplistic way that he designed buildings. He was a hard working, do-it-yourself architect, even if he did not give off the vibe of a hard worker. She just wished that he hadn't attacked her with his army. He never understood that. It seemed so unfair. She loved him and he...did that...to her people. Why?
	Of course, King Scholl didn't know King Boone's feelings and King Boone didn't know of King Scholl's divorce nor his misplaced feelings. And so our story continues.

	Sherry took a look at his newly obtained map and saw what he had to do next in order to get to Boone's ferry as well as meet the king herself. First, he had to scale a mountain where many bulls took residency and could walk on two legs. Such a mountain was dangerous, and the bulls themselves were said to be aggressive. Thus, the name “Bully Mountain” was given. After he had crossed the other side of Bully Mountain, a great field must be crossed, a field that was said to be warm all four seasons of the year, whether rain or shine. Due to the warmth, the field had been given the name “Cooked Park”. Once he had crossed all the way through Cooked Park, then, and only then, would he reach the entrance to Boone's Ferry.
	Oh, and there was just one other detail: Every bit of land between Scholl's Ferry and Boone's Ferry, including the land inside of Boone's Ferry, was farmland. The mountains, the fields, they were all filled with crops and farm animals. He couldn't have avoided a farm if he wanted to. It was for this reason that Sherry had a smile upon his face, as he thought that he might have been in his element. After all, he grew up on a farm, and back in his village, female elephants were about as aggressive as male cows. Bulls should be a piece of pie for him.
	Sherry raised his head, looking upward as he approached Bully Mountain. My, it was large. Much larger than that mountain alongside that trail that he had to walk up. One thing he was glad to see was that it wasn't quite as steep. Still, it was quite tall. He took a gulp and thought to himself, “well, here goes nothing”.
	So far along, as he walked, he saw no bulls, but he did see the houses that the bulls lived in. They were like dog houses. Were the bulls like dogs as well? Well, he did hear of how vicious they were...
	Bulls. Walking on two legs, carrying pitchforks. Bulls. Wearing nose rings around their nostrils and long, sharpened horns over their heads. These bulls were red colored with black spots, just like a black and red checker board and not like a checkered flag, which would be black and white. Bulls.
	The reason for their aggression stemmed from the fact that they were angered upon seeing the color red. Something about red made them go on a murderous rampage. This was a problem as the other bulls were red. So they were constantly fighting with each other.
	Finally, halfway through, Sherry saw a bull walking through the fields with a pitchfork in hand, the bull's pitchfork golden, and more than likely made of gold. The bull was just plowing the fields and minding their own business. Sherry was afraid, but he heard from his grandmother once that bulls could smell fear. So in his head, he thought of stuffed animals, including the one in his backpack. Such thoughts calmed him.
	He was able to walk past the bull just fine without the bull sensing him. Actually, the bull did see Sherry, but since Sherry wasn't wearing red and had not a spot of red on his body, the bull didn't take any notice of Sherry and continued about its business. It turns out that Sherry was in luck. As long as he didn't go near anything with the color red, he would be just fine.
	Oh, but he wouldn't be just fine. There was a growing problem. Navigating through this long grass made him itchy, especially as it got on his face. He had to scratch the itch, and, well, at first things were okay. He could scratch anywhere but his face and there would be no noticeable scratch marks. He knew what would happen if he did scratch the itch, but come on, it was so itchy.

	One day, a few years ago, Sherry was wandering through the forest right beside his village when he tripped upon a vine and fell face first into poison ivy. He itched like hell's fury itself for days, his face breaking out in red, puffing up. He could hardly talk. His once baby-like face was seemingly replaced with that of a tomato. It was so embarrassing.

	But he knew that if his face was caught red while stumbling upon the line of sight with a bull, it would be all over for him. Stabbed repeatedly with a pitchfork. Was that truly the best way to die? Stabbed by a bull to death? He could understand being stomped or kicked, even rammed with their painful horns, but stabbed with a pitchfork by an already deadly foe? He didn't want that at all.
	Sure enough, he was neither alright nor fine. He looked around. After so long of resisting, here he was, with his hands right up against his cheeks. It was about to begin. He saw no bulls, and it was high time to start the itch fest.
	His face went from his regular brown to that of a red. Red, red, red. First his cheeks, then his chin. Then there was his forehead. His upper lip, too. He was red all over, not from blushing or embarrassment, no, but from itching. Which was about to become an embarrassment as a bull just so happened to be walking by...
	It turns out that the bull had nearly finished working for the day and was ready to turn in and go rest in his little home when he saw red. So maybe his grandmother exaggerated a bit when she said that Boone's workers didn't get any rest and worked endlessly. But it wasn't a total exaggeration, either. The bull would have probably only gotten an hour of rest, had it rested at all. But after seeing red, no way could it go to sleep. It just had to kill that red.
	Sherry looked to the side and sure enough, oh my. A bull charging right at him with a pitchfork in hand. He shrieked and made a somersault to evade the deranged bull. Off into the field of grass, he made a barrel roll with his body once more and made his way to another clearing, where yet another bull saw him and charged. Yet again...he made a somersault, rolled once more, and the cycle repeated the rest of the way up, being violent and chaotic, but with his dizziness and rolling abilities, he suffered no injuries.
	Oh, but he wasn't out of the dog park just yet. No, the worst was yet to come. For he was reaching the summit and at the summit was some sort of a circle. Either a prayer circle or a fight club, it was hard to tell, but Sherry rolled right into the middle of it, managing not to bump into a bull. But oh, rolling right into the middle of a circle of bulls was a grave mistake.
	He spun around, dizzy. He could no longer muster to roll any more, it seems. And then he looked up and saw the most horrific sight that he could come across: A group of bulls, all in a circle, with their nose rings and pitchforks, ready for some action. They were kicking the dirt in front of them and they were looking right at Sherry.
	Or, a portion of them were. The ones who could not see Sherry's face instead saw the other bulls, which being covered in red, also enraged them. Seriously, whoever came up with the idea to make bulls form in a circle probably didn't think things all the way through.
	He gasped, ducked, and laid himself down on the ground, pulling his hood up, to which he changed from a red face to being a blue shape (his hoodie was sky blue, after all). The bulls still charged, but instead, went for attacking each other, never noticing the little boy that lay beside all of their feet. He took notice of the chaos and commotion and crawled out from the ensuing fight. Once he reached the edge of the other side of the summit, he simply rolled down the mountain, through the blades of tall grass once again, and felt the rush as his body accelerated down.
	Soon he was at the bottom and other side of the mountain, and right near Cooked Park. He got up to see what lay ahead, but before he could, his vision was heavily blurred and he knelt down on the ground and threw up on the grass beside him.
	He reached into his backpack and grabbed the bottle of elephant milk, finally putting it to good use as he drank a few gulps of it. He sealed the bottle back up and put it back into the backpack. When his vision had returned to normal, he still saw the regular fields, but now there was something else...something red. Yes, red again. But small little things, with wings, flying about as if they sprinkled magic about them.
	Sherry wondered if they were fairies.