Swiftwood Forest

The rich, orange con man told the people he would take care of them. He told them they should be angry at the very people they needed the most. Anything to deflect attention away from his desire to steal from them and give to the rich.

He said, “I will make Nottingham great again,” but Nottingham was already great.

The louder and angrier the con man became, the more the people of Nottingham believed him. He convinced them that he was a man of the people. That he was just like them, but he was nothing like them and he did not care about them in the least. Nonetheless, the people voted him into the office of Sheriff of Nottingham. He would, henceforth, become known simply as Nottingham.

Nottingham taxed the poor and gave it to his friends who grew richer daily. He threw large parties, inviting only the wealthiest people in all the kingdom and he gave them jobs in his administration to find ways to take more money from the people. Nottingham grew so fat and so stupid that he came up with the most ridiculous ideas just to test the loyalty of the people around him.

One day he said, “Let’s change the name of the English Channel to the Gulf of Nottingham,” and all his buddies who he had given gifts, rolled over like dogs, praising him for his brilliant idea.

They thought it was all fun and games. They were on top of the world, and no one could stop them. Nottingham gave his friends the rights to treat workers with impunity so they could force them to work for little pay while they took all their earnings and became even richer. And in exchange for these things that they wanted, they did exactly what Nottingham wanted. What did Nottingham want, you ask? He had money. No, it wasn’t the money he wanted. It was power, pure and simple. The power to have so much control over people that they would tell him anything he wanted to hear like, changing the name of the English Channel to the Gulf of Nottingham was a good idea.

But not all of Nottingham was conned. Deep in the Swiftwood Forest was a popular entertainer named Taylor of Swiftwood, who the hard-working people of the forest respected tremendously, mostly because she respected them. She knew how hard they worked, toiling day in and day out for nothing but table scraps and if she could bring them just a little bit of joy to brighten their day, it was well worth the effort. So, she worked just as hard as they did to bring smiles to their sullen faces. And it was hard work. Nottingham made it hard work.

The people began confiding in Taylor about their working and living conditions. They trusted her and they looked to her for help. She had no idea what she could do to help until one day her groomsman, Kelce of Swiftwood, suggested, “Why don’t you and your childless cat lady Merry Maids fight back?”

“Of course we want to fight back, but how?” she asked.

“What you need is to raise an army and obtain weapons like swords,” said Kelce.

“No. No. No. I will never stoop to their level. What we need is a weapon of peace. Something so powerful that it will make them see the suffering they have caused and lead them to change, but I don’t have a weapon like that. The only thing I possess is my voice,” said Taylor.

“Then make your voice a weapon of peace,” offered Kelce of Swiftwood.

Taylor thought about it for a while, then she came up with an idea. The next day Taylor gathered her Merry Maids to start the work of making magic voice arrows which would set a spell on those who heard them as they flew through the air. After meticulous research and trials, they were finally ready to test their voice arrows.

Nottingham’s most trusted advisors were Elliot of Muskport, Gregory of Bezocrofton, and Martin of Zuckerbury. Taylor and her Merry Maids decided to start with them before tackling Nottingham.

One night, while Elliot of Muskport was busy denying medical care to the poorest people of Nottingham, Taylor and her Merry Maids snuck up so close that they could see him in his mansion window. Taylor stretched her bow back and released the voice arrow which shattered the glass as the sound of Taylor’s voice reverberated throughout his mansion. Nottingham rushed in. He had been laying on Elliot’s feather lounge chair eating gourmet fried beef made specially for him by the Donald’s of Mac.

“What happened? Are you okay?” Nottingham asked.

“I’m great. Climate change is real. I’m going back to my original mission of creating clean, affordable wagons,” said Elliot, but he could not believe what he said. A look of shock and terror came over his face as if he had no control over what he was saying.

“What are you talking about? You just did that because it was a sound investment at the time. You didn’t really believe in what you were doing, right?” urged Nottingham.

Elliot thought for a minute, then became very sincere in what he said next.

“Actually, I do believe the world needs clean wagons that do not pollute the air we breathe. I want to make the world better, not create suffering. I’m done here,” and with that, Elliot of Muskport returned to Muskport to make clean wagons.

Taylor and her Merry Maids quietly cheered for joy from their viewpoint in the woods outside the mansion.

Next, they moved on to Gregory of Bezocrofton. They found him in a field playing a leisurely game of croquet. Nottingham was there watching on the sidelines. Taylor climbed a tree just beyond the field to get a better view.

“Watch this hit,” said Gregory of Bezocrofton.

Just then, an arrow with a mesmerizing, beautiful voice sped by him, catching his attention just as he hit the ball. The arrow landed in the grass right between his feet. Paralyzed by what he heard, he paused in shock for a moment then said, “My workers should unionize. It is only fair that they should be represented. I look forward to fair negotiations.”

Nottingham immediately noticed this about-face and said, “Not you too. First, Elliot and now you. Who will support me if you leave me, too?”

Gregory of Bezocrofton decided to return to Bezocrofton and experience, firsthand, what all his workers experienced, by rotating to each and every job he employed people to do. Afterall, how could he manage people if he did not know what they were doing.

“Something is fishy about this,” said Nottingham as he picked up the arrow looking into the woods beyond. Finally, he turned around and went inside.

Taylor and the Merry Maids cautiously descended from the trees. “We need to work faster before we are discovered,” said Taylor. They returned to Swiftwood Forest to strategize their next move.

They had successfully removed two of Nottingham’s cronies and had one more to go. In addition, they realized that Nottingham, himself, had been exposed to two of the voice arrows, but with no effect on him. Some of the Merry Maids stayed home to work on a more potent weapon, specifically for Nottingham, while Taylor and a select team went to find Martin of Zuckerbury.

Peering through a sheer curtain from the side of his abode, Taylor found him in the bathtub, slur-singing, with a half empty bottle of mead, the alcohol choice of royalty. Taylor carefully pulled back the curtain and forced the window open silently. Through a small opening she shot her arrow directly into the bath. Martin of Zuckerbury immediately jumped out of the bath, then, immobilized by the sound, stood motionless, stark naked, in front of the window. Suddenly, he fell to his knees as tears streamed down his cheeks.

Frantically, in desperate rage, he shouted, “I practice mind control. I am the reason the people voted for their own demise. I control the information they receive. I have taken away the right to free will. Oh, God! Please forgive me!” For what seemed like an eternity, he continued his confessional whaling, naked, on his knees. Taylor decided not to stick around any longer. Her job was done, but not quite complete. There was one more left.

The Merry Maids held a meeting to find a weapon powerful enough to have an impact on Nottingham.

“We need something bigger than an arrow. Arrows seem to have no effect on Nottingham. We need a bomb of peace,” said one Merry Maid.

“What we need is a voice bomb,” said another.

“Yes.” “Yes,” agreed the group. “A voice bomb.”

“But I am only one voice,” Taylor retorted. “But I am not the only one with a voice,” she added.

“We need to capture all the voices of the people of Nottingham and condense them into one voice bomb,” suggested a Merry Maid.

For the next few days, they worked tirelessly, talking of all the people of Nottingham and capturing their voices into an oblong, pig skin ball.

Finally, the day came when they would use their voice bomb to change Nottingham for good. This time, Taylor elicited the assistance of her groomsman, Kelce of Swiftwood Forest, along with most of the residents of Nottingham. There was no hiding in the trees this time. The entire town marched to Nottingham’s palace demanding he appear outside and listen to their grievances.

Eventually, he stepped out onto the balcony. Kelce of Swiftwood launched the voice bomb with a spin through the air, onto the balcony. The voice bomb erupted with sound so loud that Nottingham went deaf temporarily. He froze for an instant, but did not change.

“I will never let you take my kingdom away,” he shouted, but the people shouted back. Free from thought control, the people knew the real power belonged to them, as it always had. Nottingham realized he had lost control. He jumped off the balcony and ran into the hills, never to be seen again.

Taylor returned all the money stollen from the people by Nottingham, Elliot of Muskport, Gregory of Bezocrofton, and Martin of Zuckerbury. The people of Nottingham, once again, knew their voices were the most powerful weapon they possessed, and they were never conned again.

I appreciate your support. Please like, share comment and tip, if you are so inclined.