This short story was originally published in Issue 133 of Red Fez Literary Magazine and was deemed Story of the Week on May 19, 2020. However, due to the magazine indefinitely suspending publication and defuncting on their domain, I am providing the full short story below.
Windfallen is a fantasy short story of about 4,400 words. The story is about a great knight, Mundgar, who traverses the backwoods of Kahd’Nihil seeking the Fruit of The Windfallen. After twenty years, Mundgar finds the fruit said to bestow its consumer their grandest wish. Though, he soon finds his journey is not yet over as beneath the blessed tree that bears the fruit sits a mysterious man from Sinbei.
Windfallen, A Short Story
Mundgar would never have believed the immensity of the backwoods of Kahd’Nihil if not for his twenty years combing the untamed forest.
Every night, the warrior would utter the name of the blessed artifact. Vocalizing his desire was not an exercise in rejuvenating his impetus but rather a way of remembering the purpose of his quest. Over seven thousand days spent alone under the constant shadows of Kahd’Nihil’s colossal trees tended to dull even the sharpest of minds.
“The Fruit of The Windfallen,” said Mundgar, as he drifted off to sleep in the warm embrace of the incandescent fire.
Twenty years had weathered the once proud knight. When Mundgar stopped at a stream to quench his thirst, he kept his eyes to the sky, choosing to ignore the reflection that would bear his true age. Yet, there were more ways than a reflection to determine time’s toll on one’s body. His once smooth, polished skin now felt leathery and abrasive, like that of a beached sea serpent. His joints felt as though they’d been excoriated by a sharpening stone. And though Mundgar tried to ignore the growing bleariness of the foliage, his eyesight was abandoning him, also.
Howbeit, despite his wilting youth, he’d long since abandoned his nights of fitful sleep. Every morning he’d arise with adolescent vitality.
Mundgar awoke to a silvery dawn. The sun weaved patterns before his eyes, seeping through treetops and refracting off the winding, turning flecks of dust in the air. Though he knew not the whereabouts of the Fruit of the Windfallen, he knew that this day would bring him another day closer to the end of his journey.
Little did he know that this day, in particular, would be the day his journey came to an end.
The underbrush was no match for Mundgar’s swinging axe. Though his beauty had forsaken him, his strength thrived in the absence of royal feasts and fetes. His ax sheared through the tough briers easier than a scythe through sun-dried wheat. Every swing brought him a step closer to his destiny.
Thwooh. Thwaah. Mundgar had long since memorized the melody of his ax's song. Thwooh. Thwaah. The knight developed a habit of breathing in time with each verse.
Though, on this day, his breath fell out of tune, because after twenty years of search, he happened upon a clearing. A clearing so resplendent Mundgar needed no assurance that it was the very Garden of Fallegra, the Forebearer’s most alluring descendant.
Mundgar was used to the sight of greedy reeds, strangling neighboring stalks in order to soak up the slivers of rays that pierced the thick foliage. However, in this clearing, light was in abundance, and the pastures leisurely swayed in the gentle breeze. Mundgar quaffed the succulent air, suddenly realizing that he’d been inhaling the tainted breath of Kahd’Nihil’s trees for far too long.
Mundgar looked to the center of the spirited clearing and spotted a tree.
Atop the lush, symmetrical tree hung a golden fruit.
Beneath the shade of the tree bearing the golden fruit sat a man.
Mundgar felt as though he were gazing upon a lively mural, and the eccentricity of the scene was almost too much for his weathered mind to bear. Yet, twenty years spent alone in the woods proved to Mundgar that it was possible for a man to thirst for communion. The man sitting beneath the tree didn’t seem to acknowledge the newcomer’s arrival, instead electing to focus on the half-woven basket upon his lap.
Mundgar warily approached the stranger.
The man’s face was veiled by a conical hat made from bamboo. Mundgar had only seen this style of hat once before when the royal family invited a mystic from Sinbei to a harvest fete. He could only assume this man was from the same region.
Wearing a loose-fitting, tan frock, the stranger fastidiously wove loops of reeds into the basket resting upon his lap. To Mundgar, the pursuit seemed an act of rumination rather than necessity.
Although the grass sighed under the pressure of his approaching heels, the man under the tree paid little mind to Mundgar’s advance.
“Traveller,” said Mundgar. “Man from Sinbei, I seek the Fruit of The Windfallen.”
The man finally broke his trance with the half-woven basket.
“Soto,” said the Sinbeian.
“Forgive me, but I know not of what you speak.” The words felt strange coming from Mundgar’s lips. It’d been so long since he’d uttered anything other than the name of his utmost desire.
“Soto,” repeated the man. “My name. Perhaps you can offer yours?”
“Greetings, Soto. I am Mundgar, First Knight to the Court of Ingasston.”
A subtle smile tugged at the cheeks of Soto’s tawny face, but he spoke no words, deciding to resume his basket weaving instead.
Mundgar repeated his introductory statement. “Soto, I seek the Fruit of The Windfallen. Do you know of such a treasure?”
The Sinbeian’s fingers ceased their twiddling, and the man grew stiff. “Your search is over, for you have found it, Knight.”
Mundgar gazed upon the golden fruit hanging from the tree. He’d long imagined a glorious relic decorated with precious metals and gems. Never had it crossed his mind that the artifact was a genuine fruit suited for consumption.
The past twenty years seemed a mere introduction leading up to this moment, and Mundgar wanted desperately to seize the fruit and bite into its golden flesh. He’d never seen anything that looked so delectable. Though, there was the question as to why this mysterious Sinbeian man, Soto, had not taken the fruit for himself that drew Mundgar to hesitate.
The man resumed his weaving, and Mundgar cautiously approached the fruit. The tree wasn’t very tall, and Mundgar, being a man of enormous stature, would have been able to reach the relic with some added effort. Paying some mind to the Sinbeian, Mundgar began to reach, choosing to ignore the intense trembling of his hand.
“Stop, Knight,” said Soto. “Do you not know why it is called the Fruit of The Windfallen?” This time, the Sinbeian man was staring intently at the knight.
Mundgar paused, having not yet touched the fruit. “I know that it grants men the strength of an auroch. I know that it grants lepers a new body, the dumb a new mind, and the breathless a new heart. Though, I do not know as to the origin of its name.”
“You worship the gods of the North, yet you seek the worldly gifts of those in the South.”
“Gods of the South? Is this not the Garden of Fallegra?”
Soto shook his head, his bamboo hat swaying from side to side. “Not a garden, Knight. A graveyard. The resting place of the Padakra—or better known to the people of the north, the Windfallen—the fae offspring of Tehu Naturei.” Soto patted the earth beside him. “The roots of this tree are the entangled bodies of the fae. A way for the magnanimous beings to impart their magic unto this world. This tree used to be rife with Rukir ire Padakra—or Fruit of The Windfallen. However, that was long, long ago, and their dwindling magic is only able to bear a single fruit once in a century.”
Mundgar felt as though his knees would give out as his admiration for the relic intensified. It had taken a hundred years to yield such magnificence. His journey seemed like nothing more than a stroll in a courtyard in comparison.
“I’m sorry, Soto from Sinbei. It appears that this fruit may be a product of your gods, but by my hand, it must leave this place.” Mundgar motioned for the fruit once more.
“Stop, Knight. For I have not told you all there is to know about the Rukir ire Padaka.”
Mundgar was growing frustrated with the foreigner but ceased his progression regardless. “If you intend to tell me more of your tales, traveler, then I must apologize, for I am in great haste.”
Soto laughed. “Tales? No, knight. I intend to tell you why removing the fruit from that branch would be a grave mistake.”
Mundgar cocked his head.
Soto continued, “The fruit’s name isn’t just a tribute to its creators. The fruit’s name also bears a lesson in humility. Your are not to pluck the fruit from the womb, for it is premature. No. It is to be windfallen in order for its power to be contained. Therefore, you, as well as I, shall wait for the wind’s last kiss to grant it freedom from its bond, lest neither of us depart with its magic.”
“And thus, we shall divide the fruit among ourselves?”
Soto lowered his head. “Regrettably no, Knight. The fruit endows its gift upon just one soul.”
Mundgar backed away from the fruit but did not avert his eyes from its alluring radiance. “Just one?” Mundgar’s whisper was practically incoherent. He turned to Soto. “If that’s so, then it appears that we’re at an impasse, Soto from Sinbei.”
“It may appear to you as so. Yet, I have rested beneath the fruit of this tree for two years, and you’ve just arrived in but a moment’s passing. Though the scenery of this clearing, to you, is still as charming as a savory nymph, I have grown weary of the fanciful backdrop for quite some time. Moreover, this tree gave birth to the relic of my gods and not yours. To me, Knight, it appears as though I am most deserving of the fruit.” Soto’s tone was gentle and without indignation.
Mundgar was unimpressed with the Sinbeian’s rightful dispute. “And I have spent twenty years in the sun-starved underbrush of Kahd’Nihil’s backwoods. I have jilted my youth midst the rasping leaves and biting briers.”
“And you seek magic of which you hold no knowledge.”
Mundgar was perturbed by Soto’s aloofness in regard to his professed tribulations. Twenty years without conference, and this man was what the northern gods saw fit to bequeath unto him? It was near enough to drive Mundgar to madness.
“Very well,” said Mundgar, unable to suppress the quiver of his throat. “Soto from Sinbei, I challenge you to a duel. The victor claims their right to the Fruit of The Windfallen. The defeated sails upon the winds to their beloved gods.”
“That is ill-advised, Knight,” Soto replied.
“A craven from Sinbei? I had not thought to meet one such as you in my life.” Mundgar’s frustration had not only lightened his tongue but had set ablaze a hidden well of vigor within him. He unsheathed his ax from the scabbard on his back.
“I’m as much of a craven as you are a mule, Knight. I do not turn down your challenge for fear of my life but for fear that the fervor of our battle will unwittingly dislodge the fruit from the womb.”
Mundgar had not thought of such a scenario. “Very well, Sinbeian. How do you propose we settle this conflict?”
“My proposal is that I further await the fruit’s departure from the tree. If you choose to wait alongside me, then, when the fruit has fallen upon the earth below, I will honor your challenge.” Soto placed his hand leisurely on the hilt of his scimitar.
Mundgar thought for but a moment before he fell upon agreement with the Sinbeian man. Mundgar secured his ax in its scabbard and approached Soto. “So be it, Soto,” said the knight. “In this case, may I safely rest aside you?”
“You may, Knight.”
And Mundgar sat beneath the tree beside the Sinbeian, for a man from Sinbei was forbidden to tell a lie.
Four sleepless days passed before the next words were spoken.
Mundgar finally learned what Soto had meant about the fading glory of the Padakras’ resting place. Only four days in the clearing and Mundgar had grown spiritless. Furthermore, it’d been nearly two weeks since the knight had had any sustenance.
“Soto, I have not seen you depart from the tree for food, yet you have awaited atop this graveyard for two years. Surely there must be some source of sustenance? You have promised me fulfillment of my challenge; therefore, if you could provide me nourishment, you would be doing well in keeping to your word. Otherwise, I shall perish, and your words will be but lies.”
“Speak no more, Knight. Beyond the trees to the west, there is a eucuru tree.” Soto held his finger aloft as if the appendage was a thin, bronze scepter. “Last I ventured, it had blossomed seven eucuru fruits. There should be six left. Take one, for there is a short supply, and it now has two mouths to feed.”
Mundgar departed from the tree, confident that if the fruit were to fall in his absence, the Sinbeian would still honor his challenge.
The eucuru tree was much nearer than the knight had anticipated. He approached the diminutive harvest clinging to its low hanging branches. Mundgar counted the brown, plump fruits. Six, just as Soto had declared. Mundgar took the ripest fruit and sunk his teeth into the abrasive flesh. The taste was foul, almost like spoiled beef, but it filled the void in his stomach well enough.
Mundgar ate all but the poisonous core of the fruit, and discarded the stinking innards deep into a neighboring cluster of wentwillows. He conscientiously counted the few remaining fruits. Five. Soto had already been waiting beneath the tree for two years, and Mundgar was sure that five eucuru fruits would not be enough to stave their hunger for another two. He thought about trekking further into the woods to see if there were more trees bearing fruit, but the threat of becoming lost in the thicket was too daunting after sacrificing twenty years getting this far. Instead, Mundgar decided that it would be wise to eat four more eucuru fruits and leave but one for Soto, for the First Knight to the Court of Ingasston was not bound by the laws of Sinbei, and to him, a lie was just as insignificant as adjusting one’s jerkin before a common maiden.
Mundgar buried his guilt beneath his mountainous of desire for the Fruit of The Windfallen; though, the knight likely would’ve counted his karma matched by the unpalatable taste and retched scent of the eucuru fruits.
The knight returned to the clearing and assumed his position alongside the Sinbeian. Soto didn't inquire about whether the knight had found the tree, as the fetid aroma of the eucuru fruit permeating from his maw was proof enough.
Four more days had passed without an utterance.
Finally, the knight, once again crumpling beneath the tedium of the long wait, spoke. “If you are to somehow best me in battle, what do you intend to do with the powers bestowed upon you by the fruit?”
Soto remained silent.
Mundgar turned to see if the man had succumbed to slumber for the first time since their initial encounter those many days past, but he could see the dark brown of his irises peeking out from beneath the narrow slits of his eyelids.
The knight disregarded the man’s apparent scorn and answered his own question. “You may think it is I that desires the fruit for myself. In that, you are mistaken Sinbeian. The fruit is not for the likes of me.
“When I left the Court of Ingasston twenty years ago, I was abandoning the remarkable grace of the most beautiful woman to bless the land, Princess Vyond Ingasston the Third.” Mundgar found that he had to pause a moment to truly appreciate the fading memories of her grandeur. “Her hair is blended with the colors of the golden dusk, and her eyes were what inspired the copper moon. I cursed the gods that they’d allow such beauty to fade in time. I thought that there must be a way to preserve such artistry. I’ve seen plinkot trees sustain their beauty despite standing naked before the seasons. Surely, I knew there would be some way for a human to do the same. When I learned of the Fruit of The Windfallen, I knew that I had not been mistaken.
“Twenty years has passed since then. While my youth had been strangled by the greedy vines of the backwoods, Vyond’s has undoubtedly prospered. For her beauty is a lake, and a lake does not dry up overnight. Here I am, Soto. To preserve the beauty of one so fair.”
“Honorable, knight,” said Soto. “Though your loyalty to your people is admirable, I, too, am not here for the empowerment of myself.”
“Is that so?” asked Mundgar.
“Indeed.” Soto moved his his body to face the knight for the first time since their initial encounter. “My granddaughter, she lives in skin as delicate as autumn leaves. Never a day passes that she doesn’t shed a drop of blood. I wish but to dance with her just one time, but her every move is accompanied by the djinn’s wrath. Every breath she takes threatens to split her chest wide open. For that, I seek the fruit, Knight.”
Mundgar was shaken by the knowledge that such a curse existed, but one thing kept him from absolute empathy. “Are you of noble blood?”
“No,” Soto replied.
“Then is the life of your granddaughter truly as precious as the beauty of a ruler whose mere sight could part the skies and bring kingdoms to their knees in reverence?” asked Mundgar.
“Perhaps not to you, but surely, for me, it is.”
“Then it looks as though our battle is fated.”
Soto nodded in solemn agreement.
Four more days passed since that brief exchange.
Mundgar’s vision danced as he struggled to repel the onslaught of fatigue. He turned to Soto who was awake and had yet to eat in all the days since Mundgar’s arrival. The knight was perplexed by his vitality.
“Sinbeian, how is it that you have neither eaten nor slumbered in so long?” Mundgar finally inquired. He was unsure whether the man from Sinbei would respond since their last exchange hadn’t been very cordial.
But the Sinbeian did respond. “Meditation, Knight. You northerners mistake our stillness for brooding, but in truth, we are unraveling our energy, for a shawl is much more efficient when unfurled than piled in a heap.”
Mundgar knew that he would never understand the logic of the people of Sinbei. He instead resolved to expand his focus.
After another four days, Mundgar could no longer combat the sluggish churning of time.
“Soto,” said Mundgar, “Remember our pact. Once the fruit is swept from the tree, we are to do battle.”
With that, Mundgar succumbed to sleep’s embrace.
The Sinbeian yielded no reaction to the knight’s slumber. Though, there was an unseen assurance in the man. The backwoods of Kahd’Nihil held many secrets that easily eluded the northerner’s naivety. It was remarkable that Mundgar had bested the dangers of the forest, an affirmation to his skills as a survivalist. Yet, one is to not only be weary of the things that could kill you.
The eucuru tree bears fruit known by the Sinbeians to be tulu pagtulani, or as it translates to the northerners, bringers of sleep. Soto knew the knight’s body would not be resistant to the unfamiliar effects of tulu pagtulani, but he hadn’t known that Mundgar would consume five of the remaining six eucuru fruits. However, the fact that the robust knight had succumbed to the effects of the fruit so quickly was telling of the true breadth of his plunder.
Soto had assumed the knight’s sleep would last no longer than a month.
The knight’s sleep lasted nearly six months.
The knight’s posture was as that of a wilted flower. Comfort wasn’t a concern for someone as slumberous as he. Soto imagined that the knight must’ve slept through seasons if not for Kahd’Nihil’s constant temperate climate.
One day, Mundgar began to turn in his sleep, and Soto knew that, without disturbance, the knight would sleep no longer than four more days. However, with a little nudge, the knight would be awake in an instant. Soto would have let the Mundgar finish his slumber naturally, but he had reason to awaken the knight.
The Fruit of The Windfallen had fallen from the tree, and it was time the two commenced their duel.
Mundgar was dreaming of Princess Vyond Ingasston the Third. She was seated opposite Mundgar, separated by a grand buffet presented to them by the gods. Blasphemy was of no concern, for the gods were willing to wait upon them out of sheer desire to be in the presence of the impossibly beautiful Vyond.
His dream was ended when something dropped to the ground beside him.
Mundgar pried his eyelids apart. They felt as heavy and unyielding as rusted vault doors. The tree’s foliage overhead made the knight’s transition into light a little easier, but his eyes were still shaken by the sudden intake, as his vision was starved of color during his months of slumber.
After he’d gain a semblance of clarity, he sought the cause of his sudden awakening. A thud, it had been, but what had made such a noise?
His eyes surveyed the earth beside him, and with sickening dread, he determined the source. There, on the ground beside him, was a fruit. Mundgar grievously analyzed the core of a once whole fruit. He looked above, and the Fruit of The Windfallen was no longer connected to its birthing place.
“Soto,” Mundgar said, exasperated. He still didn’t see the man. “What of our pact?”
Soto stepped into view. Mundgar stared up at the daunting man. Had he always been so brawny? The knight had never seen the Sinbeian on his feet, but surely he hadn’t looked so big while seated by the trunk of the tree.
“I have not forgotten our pact, Knight. I promised you that I’d fulfill your request of a challenge once the fruit had parted from the tree. I had not vowed that the fruit had to be whole,” said Soto.
Mundgar’s eyes darted between the fruit’s core and the vigorous Sinbeian. “What of your granddaughter, Sinbeian? What of her debilitating ailment? Was that a lie? Would you forsake your honor and your family to wield such frightening power alone?”
“Get up, Knight, for now we fulfill our agreed upon challenge. You speak of honor as if you know its meaning; show me by besting me in battle.”
Soto unsheathed his scimitar, circling the seated knight. Mundgar’s face was alight with lucid trepidation. Soto backed away from the knight until he reached the edge of the clearing. He raised his scimitar, the light glinting off the metal and only increasing Mundgar’s newfound fear of the man from Sinbei. Soto brought the scimitar down at an angle, striking the base of an outlying tree. With a crackling sigh, the tree toppled, tearing down vines and branches in its descent.
Mundgar had received final confirmation that the Fruit of The Windfallen was no fable, and its power was true and terrifying.
“Arise, knight. You’ve had your time of rest.” Soto swept the grass in front of him with the tip of his toes and settled back into an unfamiliar dueling stance.
Mundgar knew to fight would be foolish. Soto now possessed the strength of gods, and Mundgar had yet to fully recover from his terribly long sleep. He pondered the foolhardy approach. He thought of charging the man from Sinbei, only to be struck down like a rickety fence post in a hurricane.
Instead, he chose the intelligent path.
“Soto, we had vowed to conclude our pact with a battle, but it is obvious that this hampered duel will be no battle. No one will herald the story of the First Knight to the Court of Ingasston who fell to the flick of the wrist of a dishonorable Sinbeian. Thus, your deceit has nullified our pact,” said Mundgar.
Soto abandoned his dueling stance. “So be it, knight. Depart from this graveyard.”
Mundgar tried to bury his shame, but he was certain his face betrayed his wishes. Mundgar headed north of the clearing while Soto sauntered south.
Mundgar used the steady decline of Vyond Ingasston’s beauty as incentive to once again traverse the darkness of Kahd’Nihil and return to court, for his abashment, alone, would have allowed him to perish in the wildness.
Before the commencement of his journey home, Mundgar decided he’d return to the eucuru tree to grab the remaining fruit he had left for Soto. His body was robbed of sustenance during his slumber, and though the fruit had powerful sleeping agents, he would need the nourishment.
It was a short walk to the eucuru tree, and despite his recollection of the eucuru fruit’s foul taste, he eagerly anticipated the stinking flesh. He reached the tree, circling its widespread foliage to find the limb that clutched the fruit. However, there was no fruit to be found. Someone had taken the final eucuru fruit.
Sudden realization dawned on Mundgar, and he retreated into the shallow thicket in search of the clearing.
The knight pierced the brink of the clearing with frantic zeal and ran to the magical relic’s birthplace. There, on the ground, beside the trunk of the ancient tree, rested the core of the Fruit of The Windfallen. Mundgar grabbed hold of the fruit and brought the remnants of the browning core to his nose.
The odor was revolting, much like that of a eucuru fruit.
Mundgar’s eyes shot toward the tree at the edge of the clearing, felled by the Sinbeian’s newly blessed strength. He slowly approached the tree, worried of what further probing might reveal. His fears were confirmed after further inspection, and the results disheartened the abashed knight.
At the rear base of the fallen tree were jagged divots, indicating the tree had a deep notch cut into its trunk. A firm gust of wind would have toppled the tree, if not Soto.
The Sinbeian never had otherworldly strength.
Mundgar fell to his knees in the final resting place of the Padakra, where he would wallow until he, too, joined the Windfallen.
Many furlongs to the south, a man ventured toward the perimeter of the backwoods of Kahd’Nihil. He was a man who had never forsaken a vow and never told a lie, and in this honorable man’s hand, he cradled a golden fruit.
As always, thank you for reading, and should you wish to get in touch with me regarding this story or have any comments or requests, please Contact Me.
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