This blows.

1.1

My life hadn't been all bad. I got my "Make a Wish" Granted with a two week castle tour in Europe. With leukemia, I was too weak to visit one every day, but there were wheelchair friendly museums as well.

But that was the highlight after the last try at chemo hadn’t done the job and the insurance company decided to call it. My high school gave me a diploma at the graduation ceremony despite missing most of my senior year.

The last few weeks went by in a fog from the high dosage of pain medication, which is why I thought the white woman in the toga like dress was just me trying to make sense of my fogged vision. At least until she laid a hand as warm as sunlight on my arm.

“Hello Andre. My name is Demeter, and you are one of the mortals descended from my daughter in this world.”

Both my eyes and my mind had become clear with her touch. The woman was older, older than my mom, but fit. Her eyes were golden, almost metallic. "Like from the Greek myths?"

She gave me a warm smile and a gentle nod. "From a bit earlier than that. I had a daughter who had children by one of their gods, children who lived and had children by mortals."

The goddess, real or not began fussing with my sheet and pillows. “As such, despite no longer having a place in this world, my daughter’s husband can arrange matters so I can talk to our mortal descendants at the end of their lives.”

I had read Bullfinch back when I was transitioning from reading books about animals and bugs to rocket ships and wizards. “Hades… God of death. So it's mine then. How much longer do I have?”

She reached up to run her hand over what little hair had grown back. “It’s already happened dear. This a the moment between when you stop, and when you leave.”

"Oh…" I didn't feel any different, but I could feel a stillness around me. Not so much a silence but as if the world had decided to hold its breath. "Thank you. I’m glad not to be alone with this, but why are you here?”

She leaned back and gave me a serious look. "When the people of this world moved past needing us, we found others in need. People on smaller worlds, lesser creations. The people who choose me are being pressed by the followers of other, darker gods. Inhuman ones.”

She reached out to take my hand. “I need a champion, a demi god. One with a connection to me by blood, but severed from his mortal flesh. One willing to put aside the place his people had made for him to go upon death until he has finished a second life elsewhere. But it must be your choice.”

I gripped her hand as best I could. “I have hoped for something like this all my life, yeah, get me out of here.”

Then the fog was back, and it became darker. But right up until the last of the light faded, someone held my hand, and I didn’t have to face the darkness alone.

1.2

I was pulled to my feet by the goddess, “I give you the strength of the earth, for some long as you touch it.”

,

My other hand was taken as Demeter let go of my right and stepped away into the dark. I turned my head to see a younger woman, ghostly pale but with hair as bright as the sun. “I give you the power of the Cornucopia, it may not be all that useful for a hero, but at least you won’t starve.”

Then she stepped back into the darkness as two huge, ice cold hands took hold of my shoulders from behind. Someone leaned in from behind me and whispered with breath that smelled of fresh turned dirt. His voice sounded like an echo from down a long unlit hall. “I free you from death, to return to life.”

Then I was standing in a great big stone building in a circle drawn on the ground in golden light that was fading away even as I looked down on a cute little guy that looked like an elderly terrier standing on his back legs. His face was all white with age and his tall black hat with a white horseshoe embroidered on it fell off of his head as he looked up, and up, to see me looking down at him.

The little guy barely came up to my knees.

Looking down I could see that I was wearing a set of heavy lace up black boots, black jeans, and a black hoodie. Looking out I could see a whole room full of the terrier people.

Scared terrier people. Ones with children, others with spears. Some were wounded, others trying to hold shut a set of pint sized doors or thrusting their spears out of windows down at whoever was outside making loud burping sounds.

The old guy fell over into the arms of some people wearing less decorative versions of his fancy black robes. “Elder! Are you alright, is that thing safe?”

He pointed behind me, “He is of the gods, of the three. The Sower, the Reaper, and the Earth Mother.”

I turned around. The mosaic on the wall looked to be missing a few pieces. But it depicted three humans, or at least humanish, looking, people. A younger woman planting seeds, on one side of a patch of growing plants, with a man on the other side harvesting them. An older woman stood in the background with her arms held wide.

All of them depicted on a scale similar to mine, or about three times as tall as the terrier people.

I took a deep breath. “Hi, they sent me to help. Can someone fill me in on what going on, what are we facing here.”

The terrier who had been asking the questions spoke up. “Croakers. They have always been our enemies, but their new god is demanding sacrifices in great numbers. We sent for help from the Alfs, but we don’t even know if our messenger got through. Elder Simauve had a vision on how to call to the gods for help.”

She looked me up and down. "And we got you? Are you even armed?"

Was I? I patted my pockets and found nothing. But I was supposed to be strong wasn’t I, like that giant Hercules had fought? At least as long as no one lifted me off the ground at least.

There was a shout of success from outside as the doors buckled in. As the terriers struggled to close the gap between the doors I could see some burly looking frog guys outside.

Who were all of two and a half feet tall. They had a good four inches on the terrier people and twice the bulk, but I thought I could take them.

Well at least a few I thought, as the doors gaped open wider and I could see how many I was up against, and started thinking in terms of maybe at least one or two instead. But barehanded? I needed something.

The younger woman, Persephone I think, had said she was giving me the Cornucopia. I could feel something unseen near me, like a pressure in the air right next to me. So I held out my hand and then I could feel something in my hand.

A horn large enough to my head into. It narrowed down as it twisted in a spiral to a narrow tip with a metal mouthpiece on it. Which is all I had time to notice as the doors burst open and frog guys started to push their way inside.

Well, it’s from the gods. It should be pretty sturdy.

Ducking under the support beams of the building I took five long steps between the people moving away from the doors and swung the horn up and then around behind me before smashing it into the faces of the first three frog guys as they pushed their way into the front doors.

Yeah, definitely some super strength going on here I thought as the frog guys, the doors, and the stone slab above the doors broke, or in the case of the frog guys, splattered.

Bits of the door, bloody remains, and some stonework went flying out ahead of me as I went down to one knee to get down low enough to follow all of it out the door.

Around me several dozen frog guys, or what did she call them, Croakers, looked over at me in shock as I stood up and looked back at them.

Numbers wise I was looking at a bit of a fight here.

I took a step forward into the middle of them, lifted the horn up high, and swung low in a circle all around me.

It was like taking a hammer to a table full of jello. Red jello.

So pretty satisfying, and very gross. At least the ones I hit died seemingly instantly. Beyond the now panicking raiders, I could see some crude looking carts filled with terrier people, all tied up.

I could also see a Croaker covered in ritual scars and bone piecing hopping around in a circle around a column of black smoke rising with a set of sickly green tentacles spilling out of the bottom.

Yeah, I probably want to stop that.

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From the speed the smoke was rising up and how fast the wiggling bits were coming out, it didn't look like I was going to get there in time. But this Cornucopia was a horn, right? Not just a horn as in from something's head, but also a horn as in to blow on and stuff was supposed to come out?

With nothing to lose, I held up the still fortunately blood free mouth end, filled my lungs, tensed my lips to use for a reed, and blew. I sputtered a bit at first, then, firmed up my lips well enough to let out a true “Wernnnnnn!” sound.

Apples, grapes, flowers, loose grains, and sorts of various other fresh produce shot out the end of the horn in an explosion of fruit flavors and more as they flattened the hopping shaman guy while pelting the smoking thing.

It didn’t seem to like that. The touch of the horn’s plenty seemed to physically pain it as it writhed in place, its noodley appendages spreading out wide to hold it upright against the onslaught, or raised to feebly try to block the flying food.

As I took in another deep breath I felt a little faint as if blowing the horn had taken something out of me, but at the same time I could for a moment see a glistening sickly purple eye looking out of the smoke at me in disgust as both the smoke and the figure that had stood within it faded away.

Then I realized that several Croakers had been stabbing me in the legs this entire time, and it was back to smashing time. Smash to the left, smash to the right, then smash to the left again to get the last of them near me. “Puny god.”

Then the bad guys were on the run, with me right behind them, looking for groups of them I could get in one swing. After a bit, it started getting dark and I stopped to check the horn for damage. As expected a tool of the gods wasn't take easy to hurt. No chips or cracks.

It did take me a bit to find my way back to the village. It was the smoke from the bonfire they had started that let me back.

The Alfs, three foot tall Viking looking Elves, had arrived in time to help with the wounded and stand guard on the back of some wolves. It seemed like no one had bothered to warn them about me since I ended up nearly getting shot as I walked in out of the darkness.

No one appeared to know quite what to do with me, so I wandered off over to a stream that ran past one end of the village and tried to wash off the worst of the splatter on my pants. The terrier girl, from the big stone building, Asema, did some kind of magic that cleaned things off of me and led me to a barn filled with hay spread out in a big pile to sleep on.

A soft experimental toot on the horn gave me enough fruit and nuts, stuff I could eat unprepared, to fill me for the night. Then I drifted off.

2.1

I guess I slept in a bit. The fact that my new body wasn't racked with pain from slowly dying meant I had the best sleep I had had in years. Also, no one had seemed all that interested in waking up the big scary giant.

Blinking the last of my sleep from my eyes, I could see that it wasn't just the Terriers, Croakers, and Alfs that were small. The wolves the Alf rode were normal sized, but the carts being used to carry out dead Croakers only had ponies to pull them. A few long legged lizards running around that seemed to be tolerated as pets, but they were only about the size of skinny chickens.

All the buildings seemed to be made for people half my height and had a medieval look to them.

I got up and wandered over to a group of Alfs and Terriers, including the older one from the night before, they looked up apprehensively at me as I approached, especially the Alfs.

As I close in I settled in to sit on the ground, which only put my head and shoulders higher than them.

“The names Andre. Is there something I can do to help?”

The old dog bowed to me. “You have shown us great favor holy one.” One of the Alf sneered a little. “The question is what can we do for you.”

I took a look at the cornucopia, while I had done my best to wash it off in the stream the night before, it was curiously clean in the daylight. "Do you have a big pot?"

What they pulled out for me was something like a witch’s cauldron, but only the size of a saucepan, but that was all I needed really. I held the pot in front of the end of the horn.

“Grain please, oatmeal if you got it, maybe some cinnamon and raisins?”

With a little toot, the pot was filled to the point of spilling over, which was too much. Looking from the pot to the horn I tried pouring out half of the food into the horn where it slid down and around the twisting horn and vanished somewhere around the curve.

Tilting it back over, nothing spilled out. I guess it worked.

Filling the pot up from the river, I set it on the hot coals from the bonfire from the night before and looked around. An older looking terrier woman looked back, rushed into one of the buildings, and came back out with a small wooden spoon that was huge in her hands then she offered it up to me. Held up in both hands like an offering.

“Thanks.”

It wasn’t exactly instant oatmeal, but I didn’t have much to distract me as I stirred it for so twenty minutes or so which kept it from burning. No cinnamon, but the abundance of raisins and other dried fruit gave it a nice taste.

I had to eat it out of the pot with the spoon. Then after trying my best to wash them in the stream, I knocked on the door of what seemed to be an inn and returned them to the older terrier woman. “Thanks again, sorry I couldn’t get them cleaner.”

While plenty of people kept glancing at me, no one seemed that interested in talking to me, so I followed a cart carrying the last of the Croaker bodies out of the village. Once out there I found a bunch of terrier people digging a mass grave.

None of the shovels were big enough for me, but the horn was great at collecting up the loose soil. It didn’t take it away like it did to the grain earlier so it was a case of scoop then dump. The mouth of the horn wasn’t so great at digging into the dirt, but the pointed bit on the other end could break things up a bit.

I guess helping the grave digger guys finally broke the ice. “We thank you for the help great one, and for saving all of our lives. But when are you to go back”

I glanced over at the older dog guy, “Back? Is that how it works?”

He looked over at the other terriers for support, only to get some "You talk to him" gestures. Turning back to me he shrugged helplessly. "I'm no priest great one, but in every story, I ever heard. An emissary is called to help with one task, then returns to their home in the otherworld.”

Well, I don't think that is going to happen. My body back home is dead, and I don't think returning to Earth was ever in the cards. But maybe I had another home now, back with the great, great, great something grandparents and one more great up there granny?

“I guess my one task isn’t over then yet.”

That got them whispering as we filled in the grave.

2.2

Me and the burial crew returned to the village at the start of a big old cookout. The Alfs began drifting in with some ducks and other wild game, already dressed, while some terriers were hauling out mini kegs and setting them out. The older woman from the Inn greeted me warmly and got me to follow her to an open spot with some blankets set out.

She raised her hands up as if to hold something to her lips. "Could you great one?"

Oh. I gave the horn a long slow drone. Broken up with a few inadvertent sputters.

This time I got onions, potatoes, carrots, some kind of white carrots, loaves of steaming bread, and even some pies with thick crusts which floated down like falling leaves.

The innkeeper’s eyes went wide in wonder as she clasped her hands and began calling out names. More of the terrier woman answered.

The Cornucopia was pretty awesome. As the woman who gave it to me said, I would never have to worry about starving. Which could be a real concern considering how much bigger I was than the locals. It even did baked goods so I could have a hot meal, it just didn’t do hot cereal which I didn’t mind.

Blowing out a load of grayish goop from the other end of the horn didn’t sound all that appetizing.

But meat, it didn't do meat. The terriers did meat. I got half a duck and a pot of stew along with one of the tiny thick crusted pies. I think maybe those were called tarts, but it tasted pretty sweet.

No internet here to look that up.

I picked up a few things that night, between hearing some songs and watching other people dance.

The terrier people were called Theldas, and this celebration was a farewell feast for those going into the swamp after the Croakers.

No more worshipers. Then no more tentacled horror.

I didn't sleep quite as well that night. No one was asking me to go with them, I think it was just assumed.

They were correct. I was going, but it would have been nice to get asked.

3.2

Waking up early the next day, I could hear others stirring and preparing to leave despite the sun not being fully up.

I took a mental health checklist.

Shouldn't I be more upset with the blood and gore?

Seven years in hospitals and playing video games had made me pretty familiar with death and gore. And that whole fight the night before had been pretty video gamey. Plus the thrill of being able to move and do anything without pain and weakness had carried me through things pretty well.

Basically, I was glad to be alive and to have kept the Theldas alive. I wasn't too upset that a bunch of gross looking frog thugs weren't. Even if I was the one who made them that way.

Shouldn't I be more upset to have died and left my entire family and friends behind?

Nope. It wasn't like me and them hadn't had time to get used to the idea. They would grieve, I would miss them. All of us would get over it.

How was I going to live as the only human around?

That one was going to hit even harder as time went by. I could handle being the only human around, the Alfs looked pretty close to human, and the Thelda seemed like nice people. The problem looming on my horizon was the fact the tallest near human, a cute Alf girl, was only about two foot ten.

Mechanically, I was looking at a lot of lonely nights if I was here for the duration. As in the duration of the rest of my new life.

But I guess I would at least have a life.

I was still only in my late teens, and I had good food, no age limit on the drinks, and an entire world to explore. Maybe even one which had girls that were at least four foot something out there somewhere. I could handle that.

Then it was time to get up.

There was a sort of stew made up of all the leftovers from the night before. I was a bit nervous about the day ahead and so I ate pretty light.

Then it was off to war.

Most of the morning was spent trying to find our way to Kreldorsha, the Croaker’s town which was said to be in the middle of the great bog.

The Croakers tried to ambush us several times, but the Alfs spotted them every time and shot their little arrows in what looked to me to be random bushes. Only to have frog guys leap out and rush at us.

The Thelda's spear work came into play then. Spears, shields, and formation fighting put sharp points in any direction that they needed them.

Croakers leaping over and even on the dog guys' formations just got themselves poked with the sharp end of the little guys' spears.

The one thing that didn’t work out was me.

My strong on earth power didn't work as well on mud. Oh, I was still plenty strong and felt tough, but it was like having an off day and feeling out of sorts.

I think the one eyed smoke monster knew about this weakness as well because it waiting for me to get deeper into the swamp.

We reached the dried mud town of the Croakers in the late afternoon. The place was sitting in the middle of a lake, which would make it pretty hard to get to or to even try to surround it.

We needed a way to get across other than swimming. But I could see plenty of boats around their city.

So I gave wading a try.

My feet were sinking a good foot into the mud, but it was still ground down there, soggy ground, but more than earth enough to make the narrow bone tipped spears the Croaker were launching at me bounce right off.

They still stung a bit since I wasn’t at my best, but they didn’t break the skin. And they had to run out of spears sometime.

I wasn't sure how good my plan to steal some rides for the assault force was, but seeing me coming was getting the frog guys riled up enough to expose themselves to the Alfs' arrows.

They even started chanting something that sounded like Rouloaf.

I soon figured out that was the name of the one eyed smoking tentacle peeper. At the same time I found out that it could hold its breath for a really long time, or didn't need to breathe at all.

The smoke came up out of the water along with the tentacles, and me.

Rouloaf had been waiting for me and somehow knew to pull me away from the ground. While it was mainly his tentacles doing the work, the water helped to get me up and off the muddy ground below. And once up it had me up, it was more than strong enough to wrap me up and then pull me down under the swampy water just enough to start to drown me.

I had time to take a single breath.

Fighting it was like fighting someone who had gotten greased up before a fight, and had three buddies with them. I couldn’t get a hold of anything to pull myself free that didn’t just slip out of my hands.

I only had one option to try before I ran out of breath.

I had dropped the Cornucopia when I got grabbed, but I could still somehow feel it near me like it was still somehow just within my reach.

I clench my hand and felt the horn’s rough surface beneath my fingers. I managed to get the metal nozzle of the thin end to my lips. Two sputters and then the open mouth of the horn rattled and sounded off. “Murrrrnnnnn!”

The rattling sound was from the thousands of seeds that were launched into the air to fall down into the water of the swamp.

And then sink to the bottom.

As I started to black out from blowing out the last of the air in my lungs, I saw old one eye’s purple peeper go wide as the seeds took root, and grew.

The plants, living things from a nature goddess’s horn, grew around him, stalks and vines twisting around all of his long twisty bits as they lifted him up into the sun.

I didn't go with him, instead, a warm hand grasped mine, and a friendly, proud voice spoke to me.

"Your task is done. It is time to come to your new home, to rest, until you are called again."

Then Demeter’s voice became a bit more stern.

“And we will be having a talk about how you use the Cornucopia young man.”