A Collection of Tall Tales

by SirReal

Bastard Moon

Silence!

Such was the demand of the monarch. The moon clung to the sky, bleeding its caustic essence into the atmosphere. A chill ran through the Epiwak nation, every Zebra within the capital gathering in the large courtyard to listen to Her Majesty’s decree pertaining to the situation.

A young colt in the audience slipped away from his parents, enraptured by a flittering moth. The young colt followed, winding through the crowd of adults so intently focused on the queen before finally weaving his way out of the courtyard and into the quiet streets. The pale moon was so beautiful, but he would have liked for it to go away so that he could again play in the jovial warmth of the sun with his friends. He didn’t see his friends anymore. Maybe they decided they were no longer his friends and blamed him for the lasting cold. Black, while a symbol for power and impregnability, could just as easily be seen as the color of the accursed witch, ever secretive and seen as a bad omen.

The young colt fled a ways away, through the expansive savannah, across the dunes of the Ithrab Desert, and over the fierce rivers of the Ury Forest. He balanced himself on a log to so as to not fall into the waters; his instructors at the meritable School for Gifted Zebra always stressed the importance of never going near moving streams due to rumors of them being linked to certain ‘prodigious happenings’. The River Gods Ki’leh and Rastafar did not take kindly to errant souls disturbing them, but tonight they slumbered. The young colt cut two cragodiles into many cubes and tossed them back into the river to be reborn as more formidable protectors in order to prove his worth in crossing.

After his safe passage, a great snake, large enough to easily swallow him whole, uncoiled itself lazily from a sturdy branch above.

“Greetings, young colt,” it hissed. “It is not often we have visitors.”

The young colt stared at the snake as it loomed over him, unmoving.

“Be you on a journey? Should this be thy goal, what be thine intent?”

“I know not, Servant of the River Gods. My journey began on a whim. For the time, I have no destination.”

“Surely thou tire, young colt. Thine aimlessness, though flummoxing, hath yet to bear thee the fruit of satisfaction. Come, rest within my belly.”

The young colt was about to deny the great snake’s hospitality, only to realize every one of his muscles ached in protest. He would not be able to travel much further in such a state. So, reluctantly he agreed, and the snake, swift as an arrow loosed, gobbled him up before slithering from the waterside.

Two days later, the colt was deposited, fully rested, onto a bank. He thanked the great snake for his kindness in delivering him safely through the waters, offering to craft him a wooden spoon since snakes were known for both their avarice and their near insatiable hunger. There was a reason, after all, they were denied entry into the Realm of the White Grass above. The task took three hours.

“You are well on your way to wyrmhood, Servant of the River Gods,” the young colt said by way of thanks.

The great snake nodded, hissing his farewell as he dove beneath the water. The bastard moon still hung in the sky. A sheen of frost had accumulated over the forest. The colt had never seen such an oddity, and he believed it to be the most unnatural thing he had ever laid eyes on. It was freezing, the light of the moon reflected harshly off of it, and it crunched noisily underhoof.

The young colt marched onward for three days before he became weary with hunger. He stopped in order to sate his empty stomach with berries plucked from a tree ― heating them until they were paste ― and the meat of a wolf-frog, most of which he accidentally burned so that it was a disgusting blend of crunchy and rubbery.

During his period of rest, a queer fellow in long, flowing robes sauntered up to him and sat next to the fire to warm his bones.

“Traveler, have you no manners? Is it not rude to approach a stranger and make yourself comfortable without exchanging proper greetings where you hail from?”

The traveler answered with a shrug. Perhaps. The traveler then wondered allowed whether a colt so young should be out by his lonesome in the middle of so hazardous an environment as a forest.

“Uncouth wretch! I will have your tongue!” The colt scrambled for his spear, only to find it was no longer at his side. “What have you done!?”

The traveler answered with a shrug. Nothing. The traveler stood, having warmed himself enough. It has been a long night, has it not? In the minds of some, perhaps too long. With that, the traveler walked off into the brush.

The traveler’s retreat galvanized the colt into action; he bolted after the mysterious figure, hot on his heels. However, when he burst through the brush he discovered the figure to have vanished. Strange… Shaking, the colt returned to his meager fire to find a small box resting near. Curious, he held it in his hoof, searching for a means of opening it. One side had a keyhole, and when he shook it, the contents within angrily rattled, but there was no key.

The young colt huffed and guided the box into a personal dimension. He sat at his fire, mulling over his experience with the strange traveler before he fell into a deep sleep.