Return of the Queen

A warrior queen with an unusual talent is magically marooned on another planet and tries to use another type of magic, the magic of technology, to get home.

This story has a little of everything — action, adventure, drama, tragedy, romance and comedy. It also happens to be the sequel to The Distant Queen, but I wrote this story to stand on its own. I wrote The Distant Queen several years ago and it's not my best work. I didn't want anyone to have to read my earlier story to know what's going on in this one.

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This is a complete story of twenty chapters and I'll post two chapters every weekend.

Return of the Queen
by Terry Volkirch

CHAPTER 1

A tall woman dressed in dusty green and brown battle leathers slowly wove her way through numerous clumps of dry thorn bushes. Having nothing but the dim light of two tiny moons to light her way made travel difficult, but it was necessary. The scrubland forced her to travel by night, when summer temperatures were only uncomfortably warm rather than fatally hot.

With her beloved two-handed sword strapped to her back and a bag slung over her shoulder that only contained enough food and water for another three days, she braved the arid landscape to reach a small town where a certain little man currently resided. The man had seriously wronged her and she meant to pay him back — personally — as soon as possible.

"I'll kill him," she muttered. "At least I would if I could resurrect him and kill him over and over. If only...."

Thoughts of what she'd do to the man consumed most of her waking hours. Being mostly refined and civilized, she couldn't bring herself to imagine any form of torture, and a single, quick kill just wouldn't be satisfying, so her fantasies normally involved the use of magic. Her own magic talent wouldn't do though. She had to improvise in her imagination.

Her talent had saved her life on several occasions in the heat of battle, when she faced more opponents than her sword could handle. It could cover a large area and effectively disable a large number of men. It took just a few heartbeats to call forth the magic and only about twice as long to recharge. It was the ultimate weapon, and it struck fear into the hearts of men. But it would be too easy.

"If only I could have a second magic talent. And if only I could choose it. I'd choose resurrection so I could kill that little maggot once for each and every time he used his despicable talent to send someone to this strange world. If only...."

The woman never delved into any of the gory details. Just the idea of multiple murders helped to keep her moving closer to her goal. Her shallow train of thought could keep her going all night if necessary, but after only a few more footsteps, she stopped to sniff the air.

A gentle breeze brought the smell of wood smoke and human waste to her nose. The town and sweet revenge were close at hand.

She smiled for the first time in days.

~o~O~o~

A fastidious little man cleaned and puttered around his small, sparsely furnished apartment and followed his daily routine, day after day after day, fully intending to stay in town to take advantage of his good fortune for as long as he could. He never wore anything except a short tunic and leggings in dark, drab colors, and he made sure they were always clean. The biggest change in his life was his diet, since he depended on handouts, but even that didn't vary much. He was in a mostly comfortable rut and only the most severe of circumstances could knock him out of it.

He did miss having an occasional conversation. He couldn't speak the gibberish that everyone in town spoke, but he made up for his communication problem by using an age-old solution. He talked to himself.

"Another day, another bunch of fools to fleece."

He nibbled a stale crust of bread and wondered about his situation. Ever since he inadvertently banished himself with his magic talent, people had been falling all over themselves to help him out. They gave him food, clothing and a place to live... all without any expectations of payment of any kind. He even got a few coins now and then, and he couldn't figure out why. He never had to threaten anyone with his talent. He hadn't even tried to use it. He didn't have to. Life was so much better that it was back home.

Home. Memories of home led to more questions that continued to bother him. What happened to him? How did he end up in the odd town and just where exactly was he?

"It was that little bitch. Had to be."

He recounted the night a few weeks ago when a small but fierce woman showed up and attacked his partner in crime. She seemed to have some sort of crazy vendetta, fighting like a hellcat. He still shivered when he closed his eyes and pictured her intense eyes.

"Poor Weston. She got lucky with her sword so he resorted to his lightnin' magic. But then she went and made him zap himself. Fried him dead, she did. He didn't deserve that. Was a good partner, he was. Then she came after me."

He knew that the woman had to have some sort of talent to do what she did. He initially thought she controlled minds, but that didn't make sense. He felt in complete control when he tried to banish her. He evoked his magic and it somehow reflected back at him.

"Like a magic mirror, she was, reflectin' me magic back at me. Stupid, lucky cow. Now I'm stuck here, wherever here is."

Trying to figure out his current location in a vast universe was beyond the poor little man in spite of all the evidence. The two extra moons, oddly colored sun and unrecognizable star patterns in the sky gave important clues, but they wouldn't help someone who believed that the world was flat and that the universe revolved around them. Instead, he patted himself on the back for working out that he must be on the flip side of his two-dimensional world of Kispri. That provided him with a good enough explanation of why no one ever returned after he banished them.

Before the hellcat came along, he'd never been able to direct his magic anywhere but away from himself. He knew better than to try to send himself back home, not that he wanted to go back. He wasn't sure it would work anyway. It seemed to be a one-way trip, and that was fine by him.

So that left him back at square one, just as it did every day. He ended his morning with a shrug of his shoulders and prepared to go out to grab a free hot meal and a pint of water or juice. According to him, there was nothing better than a good meal to pass the time. He could sit while he drooled over his food, his only friend. Alcohol didn't interest him. Women didn't interest him. He spent far too much time on Kispri hunting for his next meal. Now it was all handed to him.

With only one more thing keeping him in his apartment, he patiently sat on a simple wicker chair and waited, and sure enough, not long after the midday bells rang, a person, usually a middle-aged woman, would knock. He'd open the door and she would hand him a small urn filled with water and a loaf of bread or a hunk of some foul-smelling cheese. He'd take a few bites of what he thought of as an appetizer, stow the remainder in a cupboard and then leave to finish filling his belly somewhere else.

"A bit strange that," he muttered as he shut the door behind him. "But food is food and drink is drink."

The gruff little man didn't bother locking the door to his apartment. He didn't have anything worth stealing and someone would likely replace anything that was stolen. All he had to worry about was taking care of his basic bodily functions, so he quickly left to wander the streets.

Wonderful spicy aromas invariably led him to a nearby bar or restaurant, where he bulled his way past the doorman who'd normally prevent unsavory characters from entering. All it took were a couple of sentences laced with curses and everyone around him got funny looks on their faces. They gave him a good look and once they saw his pale skin and thinning red hair, they transformed from hostile to kind and generous. He was shown to a small, out-of-the-way table and given a bowl of stew and a pint of ale or wine. The meal was nearly always stew but it filled his belly well enough.

He always behaved himself while he sat at his table. He contented himself with watching a very thin slice of life pass him by as he stuffed his mouth full and slurped his drink. It sounded boring but it beat running from the militia who hounded him back on his home world. He couldn't threaten large groups and they knew it. They eventually discovered that it would take him too long to send them all away with his talent. They could easily overwhelm him with numbers so he kept moving from one small village to another, hoping to use his talent to threaten his way to a better, if short-lived, life before the next angry mob caught up with him.

"Tired of runnin', I am," he muttered to a nearby potted plant. "It's kept me fit up to now, but it was wearing me down."

As always, the man stayed long enough to catch an early evening meal. Then he left his cozy surroundings for a long walk. He often complained to himself about having to walk everywhere but he figured he wouldn't sleep very well if he didn't exert himself.

He never thought to try to thank anyone. He wasn't the thankful type, and they wouldn't understand him anyway. Still, taking advantage of the town's hospitality day after day left him feeling a little guilty, giving him yet another good reason to walk. It helped clear his mind and purge his guilt. The man had a short attention span and an even shorter memory.

The walk was always along the same quiet path around the outskirts of town. It was designed to quickly get him away from people, people who all too often insisted on giving him things. He didn't like being weighed down with items, or more guilt.

"Just a few more blocks and I'm free. Stupid wankers."

Before he could escape the generosity of the townsfolk, he had to walk several blocks, and he had to pass a lot of people. Willing himself invisible never quite worked. If only that was his talent! So every fourth or fifth person he passed would smile and insist on handing him something. They'd stand in front of him, blocking his path and fish around for something in a pocket or pouch. Then they'd pull out their expendable prize and hold it out to him with a happy, expectant look on their face. The whole thing turned his stomach.

"I'm not a pet," he'd mutter, and the person's eyes would light up. Some even laughed or clapped after he reluctantly accepted his gift.

The person would walk off with a spring in their step and he'd scuff his feet along the boardwalk or through the thick dust in the street.

So it happened, day after day after day, experiencing nearly the same course of events with different faces and different gifts but ending with the same mutterings and the same lonely long walk around town.

~o~O~o~

The thing about ruts, especially pleasant ruts, is that they never last. Something or someone always comes along to spoil a good thing.

The sun dipped very near the horizon, painting long shadows along the ground. Insects buzzed about, getting ready for their nightly mischief. And an elderly woman ever so slowly walked ahead of the little man. She blocked his path on the narrow walkway in front of the last building he needed to pass before he could begin circling the town.

He grumbled and briefly considered uttering a loud curse but he didn't want to draw attention to himself. Too late.

The woman suddenly stopped. She sniffed and turned with a frown until she noticed his face. Then she smiled and rummaged around in her handbag. After an insufferable number of seconds passed, she pressed a small breath mint into his hand.

The man watched her totter away and then scowled at the candy in his hand before throwing it in the street.

"Why do these smilin' idiots keep givin' me crap?!"

It was the last straw that caused him to shout into the night, and it confirmed his identity for a certain woman who stepped out of the shadows to greet him.

"Hello, Farrott. Thanks for giving yourself away. If you didn't speak our language, I might have let you pass by. I never really did get a look at you before you sent me here."

The little man stood pale and speechless before the much taller person in front of him. He waited so long to hear speech that he could understand but now he couldn't utter a single word in response.

"Yeah. You're right," she answered for him. "I would've found you sooner or late anyway. Better to get it over with I think." A slow smirk spread across the woman's face. She wanted to toy with him and enjoy every second of his discomfort.

"We've never been formally introduced so let me remedy that. I'm Queen Gabrielle of Prizzaria. And you're Farrott... The Worm."

"How...," he nearly got two words out but Gabrielle cut him off.

"How do I know who you are? How did I find you?"

Farrott slowly nodded and she gave him a feral grin. "Marie," she informed him.

His puzzled expression frustrated the queen a little but she wouldn't let him spoil the moment.

"Let's just say it was magic for now. But first, I want to know something. Why did you ambush me in the forest near my castle? What did I ever do to you?"

She nearly growled the words and Farrott cringed. But he didn't cringe for long as his fear gave way to indignation.

"Why?! Why you ask?! Men hate you! I hate you! By sending you away, I thought I'd get me a little respect."

"Respect?! You want respect?!"

"Doesn't matter," he muttered. Then even more quietly, "No one believed me anyway."

Gabrielle laughed. "And why should they? I still have a... presence on Prizzaria. I travel back… erm… somehow… when I sleep."

"Huh?"

"Never mind, little man," she said with a sneer. "Enough talk. I want to go home. Now. Send me home."

"Huh? Is that it? You're not gonna use your talent on me?"

"I will if you don't send me home."

"No! I mean... I'll send you home. Hang on. Hang on."

Farrott worked at calling up his magic. He felt his fingertips hum with power and let it fly at the woman.

Nothing happened.

Again and again he tried, to no effect. The indigo glow of his magic surrounded its target and sputtered out every time.

"Well?" the queen asked, scowling. She was sorely tempted but she didn't want to use her talent on him if she could help it. If she changed him, he'd lose his talent and she might never get home. Maybe if she just cut him a little with her sword....

"I'm trying!" he squealed.

His voice reminded her of a wounded piglet, and strangely enough, that made her all the more homesick, and hungry. Traveling by foot far from civilization, she hadn't eaten enough for the past few weeks and it showed. She was weakened enough that she had trouble handling her large sword, and that upset her more than anything.

"You sent me here," she snarled. "Send me back home!"

"You're making me too nervous. Stop staring at me!"

Queen Gabrielle looked to the sky and pleaded. "Mother Moon! Give me strength!"

She had been staring at him though. She kept imagining different looks for him if she used her talent. That was a bad sign.

After his fifth failed attempt at using his magic, her compassion slowly trickled back into her brain and she suddenly had a horrible thought. If he did send her back, that would leave him to dominate the magic-free inhabitants of their current home, the world of Agrin. Could she allow that to happen? Could she live with herself if she did?

"Hey," she said. "You know what? Never mind. Welcome to my world." Then she laughed at her play on words and called forth her own magic, shooting out a glowing ray of lavender light from the palms of her hands.

Her sole magic talent had a curious effect on nearby males. It changed their gender and altered their appearance according to her wishes. The colored ray hit the man and he screamed in pain as his skeleton changed and his genitals retracted into his body. It was no wonder that he feared her so much.

After several agonizing minutes, the pain subsided and the dust settled, and the man known as Farrott stood as a woman.

"But you promised!" he screeched, looking down, horrified to see a pair of huge breasts pressing out against his tunic. "You promised you wouldn't do it!"

"I said no such thing," said Queen Gabrielle, eyeing the former man and trying not to laugh.

She'd changed many dozens of men into women before but none of them had ever turned out like Farrott. Her strange mix of hatred and mirth had played a cruel joke. She wanted to cause him as much pain as suffering as she could.

The new woman appeared a little shorter and much fatter than she had as a man, and her clothes stretched tightly around her. They must have been cutting off the circulation in her limbs, and they'd be impossible to walk in, but she was too upset to notice for the moment.

"But we had a deal!" he continued to screech.

"Don't put words in my mouth, little...." Gabrielle almost called him a little man and couldn't help herself. She laughed.

"You... bitch!"

"Takes one to know one." Gabrielle smiled, while the other woman sputtered. "You're a woman now, Farrott. I'll help you but you need to calm down."

"I was trying to send you back home. I really was, but it just wasn't working!"

"Maybe your magic talent only worked one way, from our world to this one," Gabrielle said, and paused to think.

It looked like his gender change might not have been necessary. She changed him because she couldn't bear the thought of leaving him on a world where people didn't have magic talents. He would've been able to terrorize everyone with threats of making them disappear. Her conscience wouldn't allow her to let that happen, so she forfeited the chance to get home. She changed the detestable man into a woman and thereby took away his magic talent.

Gabrielle shrugged, not letting it bother her. The former man would be less likely to cause trouble as a woman. If she didn't change him, he might have found a way to make his powerful talent work given enough time. He might've been able to transport people to different locations on or even under the surface of Agrin. She imagined him sending people deep underground, effectively burying them alive. That made her shudder.

All the noise Farrott was making made her shudder too. She needed to find a way to keep the other woman quiet. They stood on the outskirts of a small town and it was very late in the day. If the screeching continued, it might annoy a nocturnal bear-like creature called a mogron. Trying to fight off one of those would certainly bother her. She knew what that was like because she'd fought and killed a couple of them since arriving on the faraway planet.

"What?!" The large woman suddenly squawked after what the queen said had finally sunk in. "This isn't our world?! You mean we're not on Kispri?!"

"That's right. Didn't you notice the strange orange sun and extra moon here? This world is called Agrin. Now would you please calm down?"

Farrott did calm down, if only to digest the latest information. His shifty eyes focused on a single large stone in the parched dirt at his feet, allowing for a moment of concentration.

He didn't realize that he had so much power. He never knew where his talent had sent people. None of his victims ever returned to speak of their travels, and even after he'd had his magic reflected back at himself, sending him to Agrin, he didn't notice the clues that spoke of an alien world. He had no idea how far he'd traveled until Gabrielle's revelation.

To send someone to another world was very impressive, but try as he might, he couldn't quite be pleased with himself. It really no longer mattered because his talent was lost. Worse than that, a couple of other troubling issues threatened his sanity.

His huge breasts were impossible to ignore for one thing. They emphasized his new gender and created an inner conflict since he refused to think of himself as a woman. Eventually, he'd be forced to accept his new gender, but he had plenty of time before having to deal with the more unpleasant aspects of feminine hygiene. Menstruation was a distant concern compared to the immediate and much more serious problem caused by his new, much larger size.

Ever since he'd been changed, he stood in one place, and the strain was becoming unbearable, though he didn't exactly understand why. He wasn't yet aware of his obesity. His leg muscles trembled and his knees wobbled as he stubbornly held his ground and voiced his displeasure. His percentage of body fat greatly increased with no compensating increase in muscle mass. In other words, he'd have a lot of trouble getting around, and that could prove dangerous for a woman on Agrin, especially one that didn't speak the local language.

He couldn't stand in place any longer. He had to do something, and whatever that something would be, he wanted it to include violence. He'd never been much of a man of action, but now, he felt a terrible urge to wring the queen's neck. What more could she do to him, kill him?

Gabrielle would easily be able to kill him with her huge sword, but he didn't think about that. Instead, in his irrational state, he reversed the likely outcome of a battle and imagined his hands around her throat. Strangling her seemed far too tempting. He enjoyed visualizing the fear in her eyes. It would be like the look on the faces of his victims just before he sent them away with his magic talent.

Farrott worked himself into a murderous frenzy. His eyes glazed over and the muscles in his forearms twitched with anticipation. He giggled hysterically and lumbered forward to seek physical vengeance.

With his first step, his new bulk strained against his clothes. A seam ripped loudly and his leg couldn't move forward far enough to catch himself. He felt himself falling so he did what he did best. He shrieked.

Gabrielle lunged forward and tried to catch him, but Farrott weighed too much and had too much forward momentum. Both women fell back on the ground, with Gabrielle getting the worst of it by breaking the large woman's fall.

"Get off me!" the queen gasped.

"What did you do to me?" wailed Farrott. "I can't even walk!"

"I said, get off, you miserable woman!"

Gabrielle screamed, and with a burst of adrenaline, pushed the large body off of her.

Again, it took a moment for the queen's words to register, and when they did, the reality of the situation hit Farrott hard. Lying on his side, he finally let go and cried.

The queen had to force herself to be sympathetic. The former man wasn't easy to like, but she was responsible for his gender change. He needed help and Gabrielle was bound by her honor to help him.

When the large woman finally cried herself out, her self-appointed guardian knelt by her side.

"I'm very sorry about your size. I'm afraid I got a little... carried away."

Farrott sniffled but otherwise remained silent.

"It looks like you'll have trouble walking in your old clothes. They're far too tight. May I please help you with them?"

Farrott simply nodded, and Gabrielle took out a knife and started the long, tedious task of tailoring the tight clothing.

~o~O~o~

"Look at me!" the large woman gasped. "I look like a... a... whore!"

Farrott's boots had split and were fashioned into crude sandals easily enough. The rest of his clothes weren't large enough to cover much though, and there was no needle and thread to patch them together. His gray leggings were shredded to use as ties to hold together what was left of his dark blue tunic, the top part of which barely held his ample breasts, with the bottom half having been cut to serve as a short and very tight skirt. It looked ridiculous but it met the requirements for common decency.

Gabrielle slowly trudged ahead into town without looking back, and she ever so slightly shook her head so as not to be noticed. 'I've died and I'm being tortured in the afterlife,' she thought.

"Hey! Are you listening to me?"

"Please stop shouting," the tall woman said over her shoulder. "We'll get you more suitable clothes when we can buy or trade for them."

"But I've got some money!"

The queen stopped and turned to look back at her companion, narrowing her eyes. It amazed her how much shouting the large woman could do while huffing and puffing.

"How much do you have?" She wanted to know how Farrott had made the money but decided to stall as long as possible before hearing that story. She didn't think she'd like it.

When the two of them pooled their meager resources, they found they couldn't afford any ready-made clothes. They had only enough to buy a couple yards of fabric, a needle and some thread, but if they spent all their money to make an outfit, they wouldn't have enough left for food. They'd have to live off the land, and that meant Gabrielle would end up doing all the work. Life just didn't seem fair.

"I'm sorry but this isn't enough," the queen said. "We'll need most of our money for food, unless you think you can run down wild game."

Farrott scowled. "That's not very nice."

"What? I didn't mean it like that. I'm just being practical. Neither of us has the knowledge and skills we need. Back on Kispri, I was an excellent huntress, but here, I haven't learned half of what we need to survive comfortably in the wilderness. I don't know many of the plants and animals on this world. I only have a few tricks that work in certain areas."

The large woman huffed but didn't say anything more about it while the two of them put their money away.

Gabrielle thought about nigglers -- large, stupid rodents about the size and shape of a watermelon with legs and a tail -- and how easy they were to kill. She could call them out of their dens with a whistle she got from Marie, and club them in the head for an easy meal. She also thought about spear fishing in the river where she'd met Marie as a man. They'd fought over a misunderstanding and Gabrielle had used her talent out of desperation, transforming a tall, strong man into a small, beautiful woman.

She sighed.

Everything eventually reminded her of Marie, the love of her life. That made sense since she currently lived on Marie's home world. If only she'd been able to follow her mate through the magic portal back to Kispri, but that was impossible now.

Magic worked so strangely on Agrin. No natives had magic talents. Instead, they had magic devices called technology. The portal was technology. So was the giant metallic warrior that guarded it, and that giant warrior ended up destroying the portal, and itself, just after Marie dove into it.

Once again, her thoughts drifted full circle back to her mate and she sighed. She missed Marie so much. The petite brunette took her gender change so well, and the two of them were such a good match.

Gabrielle resolved to get back home one way or another. She'd eventually find more technology, but first, she had to deal with a certain annoying someone who needed her.

Farrott would take a lot of work before she could live independently on Agrin, and it took all of the queen's willpower not to curse.

"Farrott."

"What?"

"Oh. I was thinking that we should change your name. Farrott just doesn't suit you any more."

"But I like my name!"

The queen rolled her eyes and resumed walking at a faster pace, hoping to get the large woman breathing too hard to talk.

"You really need a new name," she called back over her shoulder. "Though I guess that can wait. First we need to find an inexpensive place to stay. We're going to be here for quite awhile."

"But I already have a room at an inn!"

Gabrielle stopped and turned, glaring at her companion. "Will you PLEASE stop shouting? What is WRONG with you?"

Farrott backed against a stone wall and cringed. "Don't hurt me!"

The tall woman threw her hands in the air and called to the sky. "Mother Moon! Give me strength!"

The two women discussed options for reclaiming the room after Farrott finally thought to mention that the rent was already paid for the next ten days. That was too valuable an opportunity to pass up, though it wouldn't be easy. The innkeeper where Farrott was staying would be looking for a man, not two women. They'd have to do a little acting, and much to Gabrielle's distaste, a little lying.

~o~O~o~

 © 2012 by Terry Volkirch. This work may not be replicated in whole or in part by any means electronic or otherwise without the express consent of the Author (copyright holder). All Rights Reserved. This is a work of Fiction. All the characters and events portrayed in this book are fictional and any resemblance to real people or incidents past, present or future is purely coincidental.