Child of the Moon

Evil Cereal Babies

I looked around, and saw something moving in the grass, speeding away from Frank.  I raced after it.  It was fast, but I was able to keep up with no problem.  Suddenly, a massive rock erupted from the ground.  Hazel rolled out of the grass, and scrambled up on top of it.  She drew her sword.

Hazel: Can't grow on this, can you?  Go away, you bunch of weeds!  Leave me alone!

???: Schist!

Hazel: Excuse me?

???: Schist!  Big pile of schist!

YN: Well that's unnecessarily vulgar.

I appeared on the rock on a blur of silver, and Hazel turned to me.  Then, all around our rock island, the kidnappers materialized from the grass.  At first glance they looked like Valentine's Day angels.  A dozen chubby little Cupid babies.  As they stepped closer, I realized they were neither cute nor angelic.  They were the size of toddlers, with rolls of baby fat, but their skin had a strange greenish hue, as if chlorophyll ran through their veins.  They had dry, brittle wings like corn husks, and tufts of white hair like corn silk.  Their faces were haggard, pitted with kernels of grain.  Their eyes were solid green, and their teeth were canine fangs.  The largest creature stepped forward.  He wore a yellow loincloth, and his hair was spiky, like the bristles on a stalk of wheat.  He hissed at us and waddled back and forth so quickly, I was afraid his loincloth might fall off.

YN: Ugh.  Karpoi.

Wheat: Hate this schist!  Wheat cannot grow!

Sorghum: Sorghum cannot grow!

Barley: Barley!  Barley cannot grow.  Curse this schist!

The little creatures might have been funny if they weren't surrounding us, staring up at us with those pointed teeth and hungry green eyes.  They were like Cupid piranhas.

Hazel: Y-you mean the rock?

YN: You summoned up a rock called schist?

Wheat: Yes, greenstone!  Schist!  Nasty rock.

Hazel: It's a precious stone.  It's valuable?

Wheat: Bah!  Foolish native people made jewelry from it, yes.  Valuable?  Maybe.  Not as good as wheat.

Sorghum: Or sorghum!

Barley: Or barley!

The others chimed in, calling out different types of grain. They circled the rock, making no effort to climb it, at least not yet. If they decided to swarm us there was no way we could fend off all of them.

YN: This is giving me a headache...

Hazel: You're Gaea's servants.

The yellow diapered Cupid snarled.

Wheat: We are the karpoi, spirits of the grain.  Children of the Earth Mother, yes!  We have been her attendants since forever.  Before nasty humans cultivated us, we were wild.  We will be again.  Wheat will destroy all!

Sorghum: No, sorghum will rule!

Barley: Barley shall dominate!

The others joined in, each karpoi cheering for his own variety.

Hazel: Right... so you're Wheat, then.  You in the yellow, um, britches.

Wheat: Hmmmm.  Come down from your schist, Demigods.  We must take you to our mistress's army.  They will reward us.  They will kill you slowly!

YN: That's tempting, but no thanks.

Wheat: I will give you wheat!

He said it as if this were a very fine offer in exchange for our lives.