The Magical Meniscus

By Randy Lee White

In Fairytale Land there lives a gentle-hearted cyclops known as Cleo who wears bells on his large toes. Headaches plague the one-eyed giant, causing Cleo problems at work, at home, and with his girlfriend, Nellie. Cleo’s migraines force him to seek help from a powerful wizard who few can name. He must face down witches, battles hungry ogre

• Language: English
• Publisher: Randy Lee White LLC
• Release date: Jun 27, 2019
• ISBN: 9780997431728

Book preview

THE MAGICAL MENISCUS

By

GranRan

Published by

NuSaga Press

P. O. Box 689

Lowell, NC 28098

This novella is a work of fiction, all characters, settings, plots, etc. are based upon the author’s imagination and any product that resembles a real person, place, or thing is purely coincidental.

Cover and illustrations provided by NuSaga Press 2019

THE MAGICAL MENISCUS

Copyright © 2019 by GranRan

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form (including digital and 3D) without permission. For information on rights contact: NuSaga Press, P.O. Box 689, Lowell, NC 28098.

First Printing: June 2019

ISBN: 

978-0-9974317-2-8

DEDICATION

For my Father, Cecil Leron White, a plumber by trade, but a gambler at heart.

Table Of Contents

Chapter One : Headaches & Girl Trouble

Chapter Two : Haircuts Or Sunflowers

Chapter Three : Diamond Crushing

Chapter Four : Roots & Herbs

Chapter Five : Golden Apples

Chapter Six : A Wizard’s Delight

Chapter Seven : Two Tasks

Chapter Eight : A Sister’s Tale

Chapter Nine : Pound Smash

Chapter Ten : The Stench Of Ogre

Chapter Eleven : A Fox In Hand

Chapter Twelve : Rotter’s Gorge

Chapter Thirteen : Burned & Infected

Chapter Fourteen : Mirrored Images

Chapter Fifteen : A Spell Is Cast

Chapter Sixteen : Ring & Things

About The Author

Chapter One

HEADACHES & GIRL TROUBLE

In a wide grassy valley known as Riff, there lived a one-eyed giant who wore bells on his large toes. Cleo towered six meters tall and had broad hairy shoulders and thick forearms. His skin held a brownish tint, and his teeth were crooked and stained. Despite his rugged looks, Cleo had a gentle nature. The little people, two valleys over, called him a cyclops, but he didn’t see it that way—despite the terrible headaches.

Cleo lived in giant’s valley much like the little people lived in their world. He had a house, a garden, and a job. Besides his size, he saw only one difference between the little people and himself: the single large eyeball in the middle of his forehead. It had a hazel iris. Red veins cracked the white of his eyeball. Long, wavy, black hair clogged his vision and fluttered his eyelid like a butterfly; the throbbing ache in his head intensified, reminding him of his problem.

At first, Cleo barely noticed the headaches, and a good night’s sleep put them to bed, but eventually the headaches grew stronger and stronger. They refused to leave him at peace. What was causing these terrible headaches? He wondered if tending his garden caused such pain.

Cleo gawked at the idea, for he lived a modest lifestyle on the mountainside. His cabin was a dig-in, a hollowed-out cave and a redwood lean-to addition. His home included a fireplace, a living quarter, table and chairs, a storage place for provisions and the tiny what-nots he had gathered on his many travels—and, lastly, the private room where he had to do his personal business and clean up. 

Did the splitting headaches have something to do with his job at the Dwarves’ Diamond Exchange?

Cleo had chipped out many good stones. Several had been mounted in a crown for the king of the dwarves. Soon after he began working in the lower pits, the migraine headaches began. Perhaps squinting his eye to study the diamonds had something to do with it, he thought. He dismissed the idea, because the headaches bothered him even when he wasn’t working.

These headaches kept him up most nights and blinded him in daylight. The problem made him grumpy to his colleagues in the cutting area. The dwarves, in their constant grouchy mood, never noticed his rude behavior. But the gnomes did. They complained to his boss, Samuel, the woodland elf with a sour attitude. He didn’t fuss so much after that.

Cleo suffered in silence, never admitting the problem aloud until he began bumping into furniture and knocking things over.

No time for such thoughts now, he decided. Cleo packed his workbag with burned potatoes, roasted corns, and two kegs of apple cider he had bartered off a human traveler for one of his small trinkets.

Cracking the window, the one-eyed giant surveyed the morning. The light blue sky and fluffy clouds promised a nice spring day.

He latched back the shutter and finished packing his workbag, his thoughts wandering to his girlfriend. Nellie had a soft oval face, a beautiful blue eye, and full lips. Unlike most female cyclopes, she had a slender figure and carried herself with grace. He loved the way her chin trembled as she spoke; the dimple on her right cheek swelled when she smiled. And how could he forget that hint of sky in her face when she got upset! She still had that same fiery little soul Granny bragged about when they were children.

In fact, Nellie’s defiant nature reminded Cleo of his granny. Standing at half the size of Cleo’s father, hunched over, Granny had used a cane to walk. She was the shortest cyclops Cleo had ever seen. Yet, her defiant attitude saved him while growing up.

Granny ordered his father about like he was a mutt. And, when he get mad and throw things around (which she said would happen), she faced him down with nerves of steel.

For Cleo, his granny held sainthood. She told the greatest fairy tales, and she had the best sayings when he needed advice. Yet, what he best remembered about her was her eye. While most cyclopes had black, blue, brown, or green irises, she had a granite-colored iris which sparkled when life piqued her interest. How could he forget those days, sitting by the fire, absorbing her fables like a sea sponge at high tide? 

Don’t judge a giant by his skin. We’ve taken many losses in that war, she assured him one particular winter day.

I’ve never heard of a skin war, Cleo replied, holding hands towards the fire.

We’re not proud of it. She reached over the fire and stirred the kettle of stew. Her eye gleamed with anticipation. And you need the truth. You need to know your history. Or how are you going to know where you’re heading?

I . . . guess so.

What happened? Cleo leaned away from the flames.

She wrinkled her nose, smiling at him. There once were a band of light blue-skinned cyclopes. They were hunters, nomads. They traveled among the mountains much like our ancestors while we, tan-skins, had settled down and become farmers, mill workers, and miners.

Yeah, that’s us, alright, said Cleo.

Yes, we were at war for many years against these light blue-skinned cyclopes. They were great warriors, but we outnumbered them. It was a terrible war built on mistrust and misunderstanding. A lot of innocent one-eyes died. The war went on for several generations, until no one could remember what actually started the war. After that, it did not take long to get to the simple truth.

What kind of truth? the young cyclops leaned forward, eager to snatch up the knowledge. This is going to be good, he gloated, wringing his hands.

The truth is we’re all giants with only one eye. We’re the same regardless of our skin color. That’s when the war ended and we found peace. But it was too late for the blue skins. They were few and scattered, soon gone. Now we’re so few we don’t mind any color.

I bet the little people don’t fight over anything that dumb, Cleo assumed.

Oh, but they do. In fact, it’s one of the reasons they find so little peace. Once, I fell off the mountain and was badly hurt; a bunch of little people’s children rescued me. They nursed me back to health. When their parents found out, they tried to kill me.

The small kind ones? He wanted to know. They were always helpful and generous when he trekked through their valley. Golly, the little people did that?

You have an odd way of looking at things, Granny muttered, serving him a bowl of steaming hot stew. He wolfed it down.

Little people can be wicked too, she reassured him, the granite sparkled in her eye.

I guess so, he replied, rising up from his stew.

They were fighting among themselves while they were fighting me! I could have smashed their parents into the ground, but it would not have stopped the hatred. So I left them and returned here.

He appreciated Granny’s fortitude during those times when his father returned home drunk, surging with rage over the loss of his mate, and blaming Cleo for being born. Granny struggled to her feet. This stops now!

She refused to back down until his father withdrew, much to Cleo’s relief. He feared his father after watching him destroy a troop of ogres. Granny wasn’t scared of him. Her short, wide, hunched-over body seemed to tower over Cleo’s father, even if she was half his size. Tossing him a bedroll and travel pack, she demanded, Get out. And don’t ever return!

Cleo’s father gathered the gear. He walked away without another word.

Several years later, Cleo learned that his father had fallen