Stout

In the lands between the great mountains in the North, an emerald green pasture gives way to a vast apple orchid where the Periannath stood on wooden ladders, plucking the succulent fruit with their rugged hands. The winter season was quickly approaching, and there was a lot of work to be done.

What are the Periannath, you ask? Well, my friends, they are not unlike you or me, and the only way one could tell the difference is from their short statures. You see…a Perian, in singular form, is a person true and through—not unlike the sea dwellers to the west with their slimy gills and pursed lips. The Periains are half our human sizes, and one might mistake them for children mucking up the horizon with their vast numbers.

The Periannath are a shy folk and don’t like the comings and goings of the outside world. Humans are vile creatures with hidden intentions for world domination—a sorrowful fact that every Perian has come to learn over the past hundred years. Yes, the Periains work hard during the warm season so they can lay about and be lazy during the cold months. A sated nature of sorts, but normal all the same. 

One fine day, a curious Perian named Slogid skipped through the crystalline grass, holding a wicker basket. He had a wide grin on his disproportionate face like the half-moon peaking through the atmosphere at night. He was shorter and more robust than the rest of his kin, but even that unruly fact could not dissuade his temperament. His mother, gave him specific instructions to gather a basket of apples so she could make apple dumplings, which was his favorite dish. Imagining the savory cinnamon glaze oozing over the apples and fresh dough made Slogid’s eyes glisten.

Slogid skipped to the biggest apple tree in the orchid and slid to a sudden stop when he saw Lorath and Dimpleton straddling their honeycomb ladders like the giant tarantulas to the far south of the mountains. His smile quickly faded.

“Well, well, well…” Dimpleton chuffed. “Look who it is. Short and stout Slogid!”

Lorath roared a deep belly laugh. “Har-ha! What does the little runt want now?”

Slogid curled his toes in his leather-bound sandals and squeezed his inner core. His light brown tunic betrayed his inner thoughts by revealing patches of wet spots here and there. His curly red locks recoiled like winter’s breath had blown him a soft kiss.

“Me come to gather a bushel of apples and was hoping you might lend me a hand,” Slogid reluctantly said.

“Har-ha!” Lorath mocked. “Awe…little short and stout can’t pick his own apples.”

“We do not talk about how short and stout fell off his ladder last month because he is a clumsy fool,” Dimpleton said with a wicked grin. “We do not talk about how short and stout embarrassed his parents so fiercely they had to move further up the mountain to avoid scornful eyes and foul words. We do not talk—”

“ENOUGH!” Slogid yelled, gripping his wicker basket tighter. “No one talks about Ma-Ma and Pop-Pop that way!”

“Awe…did we hurt short and stout’s feelings?” Lorath asked.

Dimpleton saw a tear flow down Slogid’s round cheeks like a slimy worm slithering out from a rotten apple. After a moment of hesitation, he said, “Here…I have a basket full already. Come closer and take it. We be tired of smelling your scent!”

“Yes,” Lorath uttered. “Let him have it so he will leave us be. We have much work to do!”

Slogid unfurled his toes and crept ever closer to Dimpleton’s muscular arms hanging from the ladder like knotted strings. The red apples looked juicy and fresh. They will make wonderful dumplings, indeed!

As Slogid reached for the overflowing basket, Dimpleton swiftly turned it upside down and laughed as the ruby reds showered Slogid like a nasty hailstorm.

Lorath and Dimpleton laughed and howled.

“Take your apples and go away! Har-ha!” 

Slogid grabbed his bruised head and stumbled backward. As he tripped over his wicker basket, the roaring laughter pierced his heart like a flaming broadsword. Without taking a single apple, Slogid ran away. The tears in his eyes made it hard to see, but he knew he was headed in the right direction. Home was only a short run away.

As darkness swallowed the light, Slogid wondered if he had made a wrong turn in his hasty retreat. The air was heavy, and the temperature was cool. The thick fuzz on his neck stood erect like frozen daggers, ready to stab the sneaking mist.

Through the fog of blackness, Slogid saw a flickering torch in the distance and cautiously approached, hoping to seek guidance.

A shrill voice shattered the evening silence. “Who goes there?”

 Slogid narrowed his eyes and saw a white-haired woman dressed in purple robes standing beside a table of colorful bottles and jugs. She had an eager look plastered on her wrinkled face.

 “Ah…a man of many words, eh?”

“M-me think me lost,” Slogid stuttered.

“No…no…” said the strange woman. “Me thinks you be in the right place!”

“You’re…a human?!”

“Yes!” said the woman in a long, drawn-out drawl. “May I interest you in one of my special elixirs?”

“Elixirs?”

“Yes, my boy. These special elixirs will ail your greatest weakness, I assure you! I have strength potions that will make you stronger than an ox. Or…if you need more hair on those smooth cheeks to impress the ladies, these pink elixirs are sure to please.”

Slogid’s thoughts took him back to the apple orchid where he fell off his ladder trying to reach those juicy apples. The fall was ever-present in his mind. If only he were taller….

“Come now, come now… Surely, there is something here that tickles your fancy.”

“M-me want to be taller!”

“Ah…so there it is!” the woman howled. She guided Slogid’s eager eyes to a green formula nestled in a clear cylindrical beaker. “This concoction is what you need! A small sip and you will grow faster than a tree sapling planted in spring!”

Slogid’s eyes shined brighter than the moon. “But…me don’t have any money.”

“Ah…but you see, the first is free, and then shall ye need more, no need to dither, come see me for more!”

The old woman watched Slogid’s crooked lips curl upward and knew she had him convinced.

“Yes,” Slogid roared. “Me takes this!”

“Very good,” the woman said, handing him the tube. “Remember…one sip is all you need!”

“One sip…yes…one sip,” Slogid repeated, taking the beaker. He tucked it into his sash hidden behind his tunic and ran further down the dirt pathway. He was so thrilled the thought of asking where he was did not occur to him.

Further down the road, Slogid encountered the old woman again. He wondered if his eyes were deceiving him. The woman’s purple robes were gone. She was now dressed in a green cloak, and her white hair was frizzled around a dark hood.

“Me must have circled around,” Slogid said, slack-jawed. 

“Oh, no, deary,” the woman said. “You must have met my twin sister!”

“But you have elixirs too?”

“Why yes, indeed, deary,” said the woman. Her rotten teeth chomped through the blackness of her hood. “These elixirs are a family business, after all. May I interest you in one.”

“Me already have one.”

 “Oh, yes, but you could use another. There’s nothing wrong with a free sample, is there?”

Slogid’s grey eyes darted from potion to potion, and drank the various colors deeply. “What they do?” he asked, pointing to a red vile.

“Oh…this one is extraordinary. It releases your inner anger and gives you the strength of twenty men. It’s a special concoction to give someone the courage to confront their fears and the power to do so.”

“Me needs that!”

“Of course you do, deary,” the woman sang, handing him the bottle. “But remember this: Just one sip is all you need, and should you need more, come hither!”

Slogid once again tucked the beaker into his sash and trotted away.

After a night of wandering without guidance, Slogid eventually found his way over several hills and down multiple slopes until he looped around to the right path that led him home.

His parents were fast asleep, and a pot of sliced apples was boiling on the fire. To make the best apple dumplings, the succulent fruit must be cooked overnight until they are nice and tender. On the kitchen table lay a note that read:

Dear Slogid,

Please do not eat the apples cooking by the fire. We waited for you as long as we could, but your Pop-Pop got tired of waiting and gathered the apples himself. We worry about you sometimes….  

                                        Love, Ma-Ma

Slogid sat at the table and wiped his eyes. His feet were sore, and his heart was heavy. He looked around his earthly home and wondered how his Pop-Pop had the energy to burrow a new home so quickly. The rest of the Periannath lived close together, and because of Slogid’s short stature, clumsy behavior, and odd ways, they were forced to move away to protect their son. Pop-Pop could not bear to see his son bullied, so he did the best thing he could think of, which was removing him from the situation.

“If only me wasn’t so short and stout!” Slogid mumbled. “I wish I was taller and had the spirit to make Ma-Ma and Pop-Pop proud!”

He slapped his leg and heard the glass beakers clank in his sash. He had almost forgotten about them. He pulled the tubes out and marveled at their color. He removed the wooden corks and smelled the floral aroma. His senses tingled, but the potions weren’t meant to smell. They were meant for drinking.

The bubbling apples gave Slogid an idea. He would pay his parents back with the gift of height and mad courage. Slogid raced to the boiling pot with a crooked smile and poured half the beakers into the hot water. The apples slurped the solution away like wet sponges.

“Now, no one will make fun of us!”

Slogid drank the rest of the potions in one gulp and walked outside to his hammock to sleep.

That night, he had dreams of splendor. Everything he had ever wanted came true. He had grown ten inches and was the tallest Perian in the whole clan! He didn’t need a ladder to pick the apples in the orchid. Everyone was so jealous, and they stopped calling him short and stout. His family moved back with the others, and all was well. Suddenly, the two older ladies who gave him the potions yelled, “Be careful what you wish for! Ha, ha, ha, hah!”

Slogid awoke with a fright. His lurid dream faded away like the smell of fried pork on a hot summer’s eve. He rubbed his eyes and noticed that his hands were no longer how he remembered. They were ten times larger. His tunic was nothing more than a loincloth around his enormous hips. His curly red hair was gone, and his flesh had lost all its color. As Slogid stood from his collapsed hammock, he gulped because he was one hundred times the size he once was, and a fire in his gut gave him a fit of rage.

As the morning sun rose above the eastern mountains, Slogid saw the early morning Periannath roaming toward the apple orchid. He saw Lorath and Dimpleton among the apple gatherers, and a fierce anger flared from his nostrils. With crinkled eyes, Slogid stomped toward the masses.

The earth quaked with every step, and Slogid’s parents awoke with a startle. Pop-Pop looked outside but didn’t see anything. Ma-Ma quickly poured the boiling apples into a strainer and folded them into the dumplings. She poured the cinnamon sauce evenly into three bowls and called for Slogid to come eat, but there was no answer.

“Where has that boy run off to? There are plenty of dumplings left, and you know how much the others love them.”

“Don’t worry about that lad, darling,” Pop-Pop said. “I’m sure he went down to the orchid to gather more apples. I just hope those other boys are easy with him. He’s much too delicate to put up with their name-calling.”

“That he is, love,” Ma-Ma said, smelling her bowl of dumplings. “Well, let’s dig in. These apples smell divine!”

As Lorath and Dimpleton climbed their ladders, they felt the ground shake. Then they heard a deep, rumbly voice….

“Short and stout…..Ugh!!!!!!”

“What the….?!” Lorath screamed. “Is that…. Slogid?”

Dimpleton threw his basket down and jumped off the ladder. “I believe it is, but how did he get so…big?!”

Slogid stomped over the hill and plucked one of the apple trees like it was a sunflower. With one hand, he ran the length of the tree trunk and swiped away the branches to create a massive club.

“Har-Ha! Now me show you how it’s done!”

The other Periannath ran away screaming. Slogid stomped and whacked the ground, killing most of his kin, but some got away because the monster was very sluggish. Lorath and Dimpleton threw apples at the giant, but apples don’t bruise like rocks.

Slogid laughed at their attacks before swatting the bullies away like flies with his giant wooden club. No one would ever call him short and stout again.

As the reality of his actions burrowed through Slogid’s tiny brain, he realized that his recklessness and rebellious nature had cost him everything. No more would the apple orchid be filled with his kind. Those times were over and gone. Having everything you want can sometimes cost you everything.

Slogid grunted to the sky with a deep belly roar, “UGH!!!!”

Far to the west, two female figures wearing green and purple robes laughed as they watched the surviving Periains eat Slogid’s Ma-Ma’s apple dumplings as they hid from the giant monster.

Soon, the witches would have an answer to men. Soon, they would have an army of giant trolls to turn the tide of war….