The Ouroh Trilogy

By Thomas D. Bryson

There are few books that surprise their readers on every pageeven fewer that show readers how to live. Boldly, the OUROH trilogy does both. Trevor and Trudy, siblings from Earth, take an unforgettable journey through these pages, a journey you will gladly take alongside them; theyre the kind of inspiring characters that live and breathe on the page and live on in your mind and heart long after the storys final word. You cant help but root for and identify with them. Their journey is rich with the power of words and wishes, spoken and unspoken. Its a journey not only through time (recycled time), but past time; not only through our known universe, but past it to another, and another (Ouroh is the center of thirteen multiverses); not only through our minds and senses, but past what weve been conditioned to perceive to a whole new way of seeing and knowing. This epic tale has been created by a master storyteller and modern-day philosopher, one who understands that acknowledging lifes interconnectedness and relying on present-moment awareness are the keys to true happiness. But you wont be pummeled with speeches or agendas; instead, this wisdom is skillfully woven into the narratives fabric.
Trevor and Trudy are joined by Ideas and Imagination, their Ouroh counterparts, as well as an unforgettable cast of supporting characters, including the fascinating Planimals (part plant, part animal, in a myriad of astounding varieties). Thrumming with heart-pounding tension and suspense, the story asks: Will the children save the multiverses from an errant word? Will they right the word that went wrong?
In a time when people complain that there is nothing new under the sun, it is quite a rare achievement to discover a book unlike any other. The OUROH trilogy is a true gift indeed.

• Language: English
• Publisher: AuthorHouse
• Release date: Jul 24, 2012
• ISBN: 9781477245125

Thomas D. Bryson

Thomas Bryson is a Grandfather who proves that Grandpa's have the ability to tell “whoppers.” This trilogy was written for his target audience of five grandchildren. The Ouroh Trilogy; “Ouroh,” Here on Ohverthere,” and “The war of the Words,” was meant to teach them about life’s realities through the safety of a fantasy. He strove to teach them the value of the language, grammar, and words by bringing words to life in the form of a Neologism. There are over a hundred pages in the “Our Encyclopedic Dictionary” to define the words and the background of the Multiverses, so as, not to distract the reader from the essence of the trilogy. The stories progress to match his grandchildren’s maturity, life experiences, and intellectual prowess. That is the reason why the trilogy was released in its entirety and not as separate works. Although the power enabling the abilities beyond “life’s abilities” is based in the concept of the creation of a Living Script; the author strove to refrain from the religious beliefs that we have labeled as religions. He sought to make his grandchildren think upon a belief, without enticing them to believe. That is their choice. The path that they will follow will be their own. In this he hoped to portray the fact that reality and fantasy are both valuable on the path of our human experience.

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© 2012 by Thomas D. Bryson. All rights reserved.

Illustrations by: © Duncan Long

No part of this work may be reproduced or utilized in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, animation, or holographic, without prior permission from the author.

This work is fictional! All the characters and character events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to real people or events is purely coincidental. If your name happens to be the same as a character in this book, blame your parents. I didn’t name you!

The Ouroh Trilogy: Ouroh, Here on Ohverthere, and The War of the Words.

Unpublished work © Thomas D. Bryson registered July 24, 2011 TXu 1-761-949.

A simple version of Ouroh was included in Hoarse Bits And Broken Pieces unpublished work © TXu001220465 in 2005.

WARNING

This book is rated US (Unguided Silliness). The words can infect the reader!

Published by AuthorHouse 01/16/2013

ISBN: 978-1-4772-4513-2 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4772-4511-8 (hc)

ISBN: 978-1-4772-4512-5 (e)

Library of Congress Control Number: 2012912630

Because of the dynamic nature of the Internet, any web addresses or links contained in this book may have changed since publication and may no longer be valid. The views expressed in this work are solely those of the author and do not necessarily reflect the views of the publisher, and the publisher hereby disclaims any responsibility for them.

Contents

Acknowledgements

Introduction

Ouroh

Here on Ohverthere

The War of the Words

Our List of Characters

Our Encyclopedic Dictionary

Planimalia Kingdom

Imagined Thought-Time Relationship

Pod/Buggy Terminology and Structure

Surreality is one step beyond your imagination.

Acknowledgements

Thanks to Sam, Tina, Xzavier, Kairi, and Kiana for being good grandkids. Thanks to my kids, brothers, sisters, nieces, nephews, and friends for allowing me to stay crazy. Thanks to Grandma for giving Grandpa the time to lose his mind and for putting her special touches on the process. And a special thank you to everybody who said, You belong in a nut house, yet didn’t turn me in.

A very special thank you to the copyeditor Lucia Zimmitti of Manuscript RX who was brave enough to tackle a volume of this magnitude. You’re the best!

No less of a thank you to Duncan Long for his coverart. He too is an honorable member of the Kansas Onery Old Farts.

Grandpa aka Uncle Tom aka Oldman

And of course, the Ornery Old Fart!

Introduction

Hi, kids! Grandpa loves you! Grandma, too!

This trilogy was written for you in the hope that I could teach you the value and wonder of language. Like it or not, you are destined to become bookworms. This is your introduction to my world of imagination and ideas. It was written while I was thinking of you. The transitional age from adolescent to adult is the time when this writing will make the most and the least sense to you. My goal is to impart my love of words. There are words that you will have to look up. All you have to do is ask, and I’ll buy you an electronic copy of Oxford’s Dictionary. When reading a word and only gaining a contextual relationship to a sentence, you cannot be certain that you truly understand the word’s meaning. When you are old and I am but a distant memory, this trilogy will allow you to find the fullness of life that I have lived through the words we share.

The first book reflects the fantasies left behind as one enters their teenage years. The second book blends those fantasies into the reality of duty under the influence of self-imposed and inherited responsibilities. The third book displays the fact that we are part of something greater than ourselves. I tried to show that our wants and needs must be abandoned if the need for the sustained existence of others is greater than our need to exist. All three books were meant to show you that every moment in life is the best moment! Learn how to enjoy every moment and your life will be filled with happiness.

Duty and sacrifice may seem fictional in any situation. I know that writing the last two books while on tour in Iraq influenced my writing. (Hi, Parker!) But extreme situations are always in the back of your mind—no matter how safe you feel—while serving a country as a soldier in the hope of a greater good.

I have played extensively upon the concepts of beliefs in the realms of an omnipresent and omniscient One in a creational context. I fervently attempted to keep the discourse from implying an inclination to Islam, Judaism, Christianity, the Occults, or any other belief that stems from a Biblical or non-Biblical reference to Living Words. The concept of the power of words and the sustaining value of literature is fundamental to all cultures capable of symbolic representation. I merely strove to give words a life beyond the page. You must choose a path if you choose to follow a belief.

To anyone else who may read this fantasy…

Ouroh (see Our Encyclopedic Dictionary at the end of this work) is the planet at the center of the thirteen multiverses. Ouroh is undergoing an excursion into the realm of an imposed immortality by the experiment of Recycled Time. In Ouroh the language is linked to the material world by the power of words. The stories’ main players, Trudy and Trevor from Earth, and Ideas and Imagination from Ouroh, are led on a quest to cure the language as it becomes ill. The inhabitants of Ouroh, especially the Kingdom of the Planimals, provide the background as their journey unfolds. Planimals, or Snews by their common name, are a genetic blend of plant and animals. Planimals vary in degrees of genetic makeup, from the snews possessing a singular dormant gene to pure planimals of the classes of True Snews. The true snews and others aid the children on their maddening quest to right the word that went wrong. Is time against them, for them, or even with them in the recycled context of perpetual days? Discover how and why the recycled day never ends on Ouroh.

Here on Ohverthere is the second book of the Ouroh Trilogy. The events on Earth and Ouroh blend into the multiverses as the children are forced to grow rapidly and begin to mature. The children are pulled into the rift between Mother Nature Tantantra and Queen Aor of Ouroh. Righting the errant word and saving recycled time were no more than a recycled moment. The cross words that stand between Mother Nature Tantantra and Queen Aor threaten the existence of all the planets and the cross word’s effectuation threatens to destroy the multiverses.

The War of the Words is the final book of the Ouroh Trilogy. The children discover that their quest is far greater than mediating the rift between Tantantra and Aor. They must save the multiverses from an oblivion that is desired by words. Time is set for a reset that could destroy all by the power of creative words. Join them as they attempt to resolve the cross-word puzzle that spawned recycled time in order to gain a thought-hold on cognition.

For those of you who are slaves to the breaks they call chapters, get over it! Words, like life, simply flow.

Let me reiterate: This trilogy was written for my grandchildren. I do not know what path they will take in life or unto what end. Therefore, I strove to introduce them to the possibility of creation without knowing what sect they might choose, if they so choose to join a following. If not, then may they relish in the freedom from choice by the freedom of choice. They must realize that to not believe in something is to disbelieve in everything. And in the breath of our existence, reality, fantasy, and belief are of equal importance in balancing our thoughts of and in, life. Any unable to differentiate the concepts mentioned afore will surely damn me as a believer or a disbeliever. You know me not!

In being written for my grandchildren, the Trilogy of Ouroh forms my desire to revel in the language in an unusual application of words coming to life. The three stories progress in complexity and are intended for different stages of development. But realize above all, that my target audience is those who may desire to know the nutty old fart that loves them.

My retaliation began when I heard the abuse of ho. Slang drowned yet another word in the ignominious cesspool by a perverse undertow. So my extremely short story of Ho the Hummingbird underwent delete. Let’s see who has the last ho ho ho as this trilogy is complete. The next generation will decide, and may ho regain a word’s pride.

I hope that I do not insult true literarians with my silliness and lack of talent. But to those I say, I love the language as much as you. So please forgive this novist.

Ouroh

The possibility of futures lay at a moment’s end.

But in the futures far beyond time, thought’s pretend.

*Kansas*

Trevor slowly climbed the long ladder which led into the hayloft. As he stood on the first layer of loft bales, he paused to kick a hay bale in the next higher layer. Frustration, anger, and confusion held a death grip upon his soul. His subconscious plunged his hands deep into his pockets before climbing the haystack. The haystack formed a haphazard pyramid leading to the loft doors at the opposite end of the loft, near the peak of the barn’s steep roof. At the top of the haystack, Trevor flipped up the door’s hooks, and kicked open the twin hay doors with a fury. He plopped his bottom on the row of bales that were level with the bottom of the loft door’s jamb. Then he recklessly shuffled forward until his legs hung precariously over the edge of the barn. He looked down the length of the hay bale conveyor to the unattended stack of square bales on the hay wagon. Trevor and his dad were going to put bales up in the loft, and that task needed teamwork to accomplish.

An empty feeling gripped Trevor’s stomach. He raised his right leg in order to kick the conveyor that was crowding his knees. The swift kick resonated ominously down the length of the conveyor. Looking outward he could see the ends of his world over the rolling hills of their small Kansas farm. His eyes started to sting from the tears that blurred his vision. The flood of emotion broke in a high-pitched scream. I hate it here, I hate it here, I hate it here! he shouted while kicking the conveyor.

Trudy sat on the back porch step watching her older brother. At twelve and only a year behind him, she was more than old enough to reason through the additional pain he must be feeling. A father and son bond surely was equal to the bond she felt with her mother. Trevor was barely visible on the north end of the barn from where she sat. Without detecting motion, she might have missed him. But no one could miss the antagonizing scream he released before he shouted his despair. It was probably loud enough for her mom to hear in the kitchen through the enclosed back porch’s open windows. Trudy knew that her mom was giving her brother time to figure out how to deal with death. But Trudy also knew that her brother knew better than to be hanging out of the loft. In a moment of clarity she realized that she denied her natural impulse to tattle. She resolved the thought into a conclusion. Suddenly she didn’t really care about the rules which she took upon herself to enforce by tattling. She wasn’t going to tell on him, not ever again. They needed to stick together. She felt a protective sibling connection to him in her moment of conscious maturity.

Trevor fell silent in the days that followed his father’s death. His mother trusted the assurances of her daughter that her son hadn’t shut everybody out. She didn’t know whether her son couldn’t or wouldn’t speak to her. The situation was compounded by the fact that he just entered his teenage years.

Late spring yielded to summer and summer to the heat that fires the souls of those tied to the land. The three worked hard to save the farm. The wheat needed a rain to head out. One more rain and they stood a chance…

I disagree with your actions, Trudy said to her older brother. She stood in the tool shed doorway, not wanting to venture closer to the thing that killed their father. Trevor’s actions bordered on morbid as he worked on repairing the paraglider with a maddening determination.

Trevor’s mother watched her daughter standing in the tool shed door. She was trying to formulate a plan to set her children back on a course that would prepare them for their future. It was a future that she envisioned as destiny. She had encountered enough death to become more than callous. To her, dwelling on the death of another did not foster a purpose in life beyond understanding death. After all, she had given Trevor enough time to get over his father’s death. It was only Trevor’s blind determination to follow in his father’s footsteps that deterred her from voicing her opinion of death with the force she felt necessary to drive home her point of getting over it. Ah… she said as her thoughts formed a strategy. If you’re going to dwell in the surreality beyond life, then it is time for a proper introduction to surreality. She stepped back from the back porch screen door and gathered her thoughts to pave the way for the introduction. (She was a creature of action.)

Trevor paused from his repairs on the paraglider to look Trudy in the eye. His sister was only a year younger than him, yet her words stung with a forced maturity. You disagree with my actions? Trevor repeated her statement to question its validity. "You’re starting to sound like Mom, Trevor thought. You don’t have to agree or disagree with anything. Trevor lowered his voice in the realization that Trudy was truly concerned. Just leave me alone and go back into the house. Please." He didn’t want to argue and risk hurting her. It was the closest they had come to an argument since their father died.

You have to take me, too, Trudy insisted as the thought abruptly entered her mind. In a moment of resolve, she placed her hands on her hips and stood her ground.

You don’t understand, Sis. It’s a sport model paraglider. He could see that he wouldn’t make any headway by presenting the facts as he understood them, but he couldn’t help but to try to explain. It’s a small glider, it’s not motorized. It’s only harnessed… meant to take one, he said in a slightly firmer tone.

It killed Dad! Trudy needlessly reminded him of how their dad died. If you feel that… you have to fly it to prove to yourself that accidents just happen. Like that’s so… dumb! Trudy paused to get past his foolish reasoning so that she could make her point. If you know how to patch it, then you’ll figure out how to take two. You’re not doing this without me, period!

Trevor recognized the tone. He sat on the stool and resigned to fate. He placed his hands on his lap and nodded in submission. She had a right to go with him. Maybe she too wrestled with the same demons. Trevor didn’t need to close his eyes to see their father lanced on the broken branch of the old cottonwood tree. His father’s lesson of getting back on the horse after being thrown gave Trevor the direction he had to take. Fear was to be conquered as sorrow overcome, and one could not be undone without the other.

Trudy left the tool shed wondering why her mom put the paraglider back in the shed. Why didn’t Mom burn it? Trudy asked bitterly of the clothesline pole as she passed it on her way to the back porch. She reached up and angrily pushed the wire-framed clothespin bag along the clothesline wire as she walked. The clothesline sang a screeching note along its length. Trudy had tried to imitate her mother since their father died, but the moment was simply too intense. The hurt and confusion she had consciously suppressed finally overwhelmed her. She stopped at the other end of the clothesline and slid her back slowly down the hot metal pole clothesline to sit and cry. The heat of the afternoon sun forced her to into the shade of the kitchen. She was thankful her mother wasn’t in the kitchen as she crawled under the kitchen table to finish her tears. She replayed the events in her thoughts and discovered what hurt the most about her dad’s death was not being beside him when he died. Just before her father passed, her mother rushed her and her brother out of the bedroom. Her mother’s refusal to allow anyone to view the body left a strange feeling of haunted thoughts. The whole ordeal was a blur. It was as if someone stirred her thoughts, and she woke to see an urn being placed in the ground before a tombstone that said no more than a first name. Trudy mentally cussed the small branch that couldn’t be removed from the side of her father’s forehead. The big branch that had pierced her father’s midsection was punished by her and her brother in a blaze that provided some resolve in their need for vengeance. If she could have, she would have punished the gust of wind that blew her father unexpectedly sideways. Trudy felt the need for answers in a manner different from her brother. She crawled out from under the table and marched out the back door. Like a soldier on a mission, Trudy marched to the gravesite on the far side of the north pasture. In the shade of an old oak she went to her knees and began talking to her father. Even in a one-sided conversation, one may find resolve.

It took Trevor two days to figure out how to prepare the paraglider to take two. It was crude and he wasn’t sure it would work. But he was certain that he had to try. Tomorrow was his declared D-day: Do or die.

Trudy thought of that Thursday morning as Dumb-day. By late afternoon she had gained and lost her courage at least a dozen times.

Trevor stood across from his sister as they gripped the molded plastic toboggan that was attached to the paraglider. In the rush of that moment he thought about what they were going to do in a manner that could be interpreted as a silent prayer. The hilltop seemed to be higher than he remembered it being the last time he climbed it. The wind was barely adequate, but Trudy was resolved as to now or never. "Maybe with a short and level flight she will give up and let me go it alone, without interference," Trevor thought.

Ready! Trudy needlessly yelled in a stretched voice. The rush of the unknown, mixed with the thrill of possibility, suddenly produced a strange conviction of doing the right thing. She wasn’t going to let her brother face his fears alone. It was only a paraglider, a thing; it wasn’t a demon. Flight or fail, she had a plan to reach out to Trevor to get him to talk through their dad’s death. As her mother had waited for a convenient and proper time for her to talk through her pain, Trudy now planned to do the same with her brother.

Now! Trevor yelled. They ran with the molded plastic toboggan between them. Behind them, the paraglider quickly rose from the ground and eagerly climbed into the late afternoon sky. Now! Trevor yelled again as the toboggan felt buoyant against the six bundles of cords that connected the paraglider to the toboggan’s six molded handles.

From opposite sides of the toboggan, Trevor and Trudy jumped aboard on their bellies, twisting and turning, to scramble to a sitting position. They were airborne! Well… kind of! They skimmed down the steep Kansas hillside, not quite touching the ground, with an overall negative gain in altitude. Both braced for a crash as they rushed toward the gully at the bottom of the hill. Their playful scream was in unison and changed to a real scream as the paraglider suddenly forced the better part of a g into their bottoms. The hill opposite the gully quickly disappeared under them in their pursuit of a lofty resolution. The farm sprang into view below them as they strained against another abrupt gravitational increase exceeding the initial g-force. They abruptly stopped screaming as their eyes affixed to the long dark circle that stretched across the horizon before them. The dark cloud extended far beyond the edge of their vision. The kids knew the signs of a storm and this one looked vicious. The reason behind the abrupt gust of wind was no longer a mystery. A storm front had apparently moved in while they were diverted with the complexities of Trevor’s flight instructions.

Trevor! Trudy finally screamed a recognizable word.

I can’t control it! I can’t control it! It won’t steer! The wind is too strong! Hold on, Sis!

Hold on was all they could do. The ground was several hundred feet below them, then several thousand, as they rose above the front’s straight-winds to meet the upper edge of the greenish-black wall of the gust front of the supercell.

Trevor looked at the back of his sister’s bicycle headgear and laughed at the silliness of their frail protection. Panic settled in for the ride, consuming Trevor in a fit of hysterical laughter. It seemed that all the emotional pain and the energy it produced was going to explode. The hysterical laughter released the powerful emotional forces he had held in since his father’s death.

Trudy screamed until her voice broke from the strain.

Both felt the static electricity as they entered the greenish-black mass of the cloud front. Lightning struck above them on both sides and met somewhere beneath the toboggan. They exited the cloud the instant the lightning touched ground. Both were too stunned to blink at the abrupt change in weather and topography.

*Ouroh*

The landscape was vibrant green with low mountains rolling gently on the horizon. The sky was clear, the sun was bright, and most important of all… the wind was gone! Without the wind, their lift was their forward momentum. The unsteerable and overburdened glider was more inclined to a far too vertical decline. Both found a new batch of screams as the paraglider rushed in a forward decline that was destined to intersect with the ground.

The paraglider caught the lower branch of a gigantic tree. Trevor and Trudy were slung skyward as the toboggan took on the role of a swing seat. They hung for a moment in midair at the end of their long arc. The swing backwards was far worse! The toboggan swung back and forth until it ran out of energy. Trevor and Trudy sat with white-knuckle grips on the toboggan’s handholds—a foot-and-a-half off the ground—too scared to move.

Wow, Trevor squeaked. The strain and the energy of excitement that threatened to explode flowed out with the words as his heart rate sought normality. His ears popped and his head felt clearer than it had in weeks. The release of his emotional strain was replaced by a physical strain as his body threatened to erupt in one massive muscle cramp from being pushed past its limits.

With little jerking motions of her shoulders, Trudy managed to pry her hands loose. Her arms hung loosely at her sides. Drained of will and energy, she swallowed hard. The sound seemed to carry forever. She shook her arms and hands until she had some semblance of normal muscle function. With the aid of her arms, she pivoted slowly on her bottom to sit crosswise on the toboggan between the front and middle bundle of cords. One at a time, Trudy painfully straightened her crossed legs and eased them over the side of the toboggan. With overt difficulty she managed to transfer some of her weight onto her legs as she scooted to the edge. The ground beneath her sneakers did not feel as solid as she would have liked. Leaning forward, she slid off to drop to her knees and collapsed face-first into the grass. She hugged the ground like it was her best forever and ever friend.

Trevor followed suit to collapse beside his sister. Wow, he whimpered into the thick grass.

Wow, Trudy moaned in response. Hearing the sound of her voice released her fears, but it was quite some time before either of them could summon the will for anything beyond the necessity of breathing. Trudy’s convenient and proper big moment of getting her brother to talk about their father’s death was wiped out by the terrifying event that was supposed to enable the conversation.

Once they managed to regain a vertical position, a quick assessment of their situation provided only one solution: the continuation of movement. The paraglider was trashed and unrecoverable without a neck-breaking climb up the massive tree. The longest-reaching lowest branches were thirty feet from the ground on the strangely-shaped conical tree. Trevor couldn’t recall a deciduously-leafed tree that was shaped like a pine tree. They stepped off timidly without a destination in mind. The most logical choice for the truly lost is… forward!

Trevor looked back several times at the tree. His mind was having trouble accepting its size. Something was odd beyond the fact that it was the largest tree he had ever laid eyes on. The tree branched like a series of umbrellas. It stood alone as if declaring its turf to the squat vegetation that formed a circle around it. It was as if nothing dared to get close to the tree. On Trevor’s last look, he noted that each group of branches subtly progressed from light green leaves at the bottom to dark-green leaves at the top. He concluded that there was a majestic look to the tree that transcended its oddities.

In an attempt to walk themselves out of their daze, the children proceed to the center of the small valley.

Do you have any idea where we are? Trevor asked as he scanned the shadows of a distant patch of trees. His sister’s look indicated that she didn’t know or care at the moment. Trevor didn’t press her, knowing that forcing an answer would prompt her to bring up the reason of why they were lost in the first place. He didn’t feel up to her you just had to do it speech and you wouldn’t listen scolding. "I would swear we didn’t pass out on the glider, but there isn’t any other explanation," Trevor thought. His logic was under assault. Trevor would have sworn that the sun had recently risen, instead of setting. The duration of the paraglider trip couldn’t have taken them through a night. The clear sky above them yielded to distant clouds dancing around their entire horizon. The clouds scattered and reflected the hidden sun’s rays to make it appear as if it had a dim twin on the opposite horizon, behind an even thicker bank of white-topped violet clouds. The strange reflection of the sun on the clouds seemed as odd as an eclipse. Trevor searched his memory in vain, riffling through his vast repertoire of television science shows. The day seemed as bright as if the sun shone overhead. It did more than defy logic and assault reason in a way that felt simply… wrong!

Trudy also felt that something was wrong. She shrugged it off as an overactive reaction to a near-death experience. She tried to look around her without evaluating the oddities that her eyes insisted on presenting to her. The dreamlike landscape felt as though it wouldn’t allow her to refuse to acknowledge its existence. Okay, she whispered as she resolved to work through the dilemma. Her surroundings looked like a normal valley nestled in old, worn-out mountains… until she scrutinized the colors. The greens were a bit too loud, the browns bordered on glowing, and the deep blue sky directly above them seemed suspended above the earth in a magical aura. It was far too bright for a setting sun shrouded by clouds. Trudy concluded her resolve with the thought of "We’re lost, so what?! She wasn’t afraid to ask directions from the first person they encountered. After all, Trudy had made preparations for a long trip (i.e., walk) home in case something went wrong with the flight. The main thing complicating the moment was that Trudy had swapped their cell phones for six more candy bars during Trevor’s pre-flight check. His weight reduction insistence" in the tool shed was exhausting and forced her to cheat a little. But in her mind, communication versus candy was a no-brainer.

They worked their way to a knoll in the center of the valley in order to survey their surroundings. You couldn’t really call it a hill as everything seemed to be dwarfed with the exception of the distant trees. Compared to the other vegetation, the trees appeared to be out of place in the narrow valley. Not a single perennial needle pine or juniper was present among the deciduous giants that seemed to protect their miniscule undergrowth. The terrain had at least a similitude of familiarity, excluding one blatant exception. There were multicolored streaks on the ground that appeared man made. These plastic-looking ribbons seemed to flow in pairs.

Trudy gingerly stepped over the strange multicolored streaks that bypassed the knoll they approached. The streaks traversed the length of the valley disappearing from sight in either direction. In a couple of places they diverged from twin parallel ribbons to singularly branch off with no apparent destination or purpose. One particular ribbon was branching off ahead of them on their right and leading directly up the knoll they approached.

Trevor’s ability to accurately judge distance and height was out of whack. His head developed a throb from the altitude changes produced by the glider flight. He yawned repeatedly, trying to get his ears to pop for the last time. Either they are farther off than I figure or they are as tall as redwoods. Can’t be deciduous trees, they don’t get that tall. Trevor stroked his chin then gave up and followed his sister as she stepped over the strange streaks. "It’s like a roadway, Trevor thought as he followed his sister’s example to cautiously step over the two anomalies. But for what? It’s too wide for rabbits and not big enough for much else," he posited as he followed Trudy up the knoll to a huge half-buried boulder where the single offshoot streak led. He was reaching a point of confusion and grabbing at straws.

Atop the knoll’s uppermost rock they found the answer to the mystery, but the answer failed to yield to a resolution. The streak ended with two more mysteries. There was no doubt that the streak was made by two extremely large slugs that rested atop the streak in tandem. Trudy and Trevor exchanged shrugs as they silently confirmed that neither had knowledge of such a phenomenon.

Trevor felt some relief over the semblance of the streak to a slug’s slime-trail. But the size of the slugs and the trails they left in their wake unsettled his belief in what his eyes reflected as credible. He squatted to tentatively touch the slime trail. His fingertips pronounced that the slime trail felt as solid as it appeared. Trevor had initially thought of his psychedelic-colored skateboard when he first observed the oddities. He thought to rap on it to check how hard it was but resisted the thought. The two slugs at the end of the slime trail appeared to be sleeping. A little cautious observation was in order. As an afterthought, he stuck his hand under the ribbon into the shadow it produced. His fingertips protruded on the opposite side. He felt a definite force upon his hand, yet the ribbon didn’t appear to be touching the ground!

Trudy reacted in her customary manner, plopping down on the rock and digging in her backpack for a snack. She fervently believed in food for thought and when her thoughts went unanswered, sweet snacks reigned supreme.

Any idea where we are? Trevor asked in a whisper as he sat beside her. He was quite frankly shaken by his discovery.

No, Trudy whispered emphatically with a don’t go there look. Don’t know, and don’t care right now, Trudy mumbled nonchalantly around a bite of chocolate chip granola bar. She didn’t have the energy to fish in her backpack for a pure dark chocolate bar. She was swimming in her own sea of thoughts as she sat cross-legged on the rock to soak up its warmth. Time seemed to roll on, yet she couldn’t determine if she had started the granola bar in the last minute or the past hour. The events had taken a lot out of her. She felt exhausted as she leaned forward to gently stroke the smooth skin of one of the soft slug-like creatures with the back of her finger. Then, in the breath of a sigh, she felt reenergized. She was proud of herself and didn’t want the moment to be spoiled.

Trevor had half mumbled an apology for initially grumbling about the extra weight of their backpacks. Trudy had packed their lunch like a dutiful farm girl. They would not be going hungry for quite awhile. Trevor even called her smart when she pulled out the windbreakers she had hidden in one of the pouches. Wherever they were was a lot cooler than the hot summer afternoon they left behind. The slug things rekindled her attention as her curiosity revisited the unanswered questions spinning in her head. The trail the slugs made was a semi-solid plastic-like psychedelic streak about eight inches wide. With the exception of size and color, they were similar to the usual slime trails that slugs leave in their wake. She didn’t register that the ribbon was about three inches above the surface of the rock. "These are big slugs, she thought. Must be hibernating, she whispered to rationalize the slug’s lack of motion. She couldn’t tell front from back due to their nearly perfect symmetry. But the trail they left in their wake indicated a posterior and insinuated there was more to the slugs than met the eye. Oh well," she sighed to herself.

With her curiosity once again waning, she laid on her back to absorb more of the rock’s warmth. On impulse she let loose an exasperated WOW! while simultaneously throwing a kiss to the sky. She closed her eyes and thoughtfully thanked the sky for sparing their lives. A worried thought of home and her mom erupted to overwhelm Trudy’s thoughts. She fought back a tear in order to keep up a strong appearance for her brother. He had enough to worry about with their being lost and his unprecedented admission as to not knowing where he was.

The slugs seem harmless, but don’t step on them or their slime trails, Trevor cautioned as he too felt the peculiarity of the slug-like creatures. Never can tell, he concluded in a guarded whisper. Then he regained his tendency for logical thought. It’s like they were trying to get to the highest point. That would indicate some form of intelligence, or better yet, a will for survival. But if that’s true, what would they be on the lookout for? Trevor thought it through and concluded that there might be wild dogs, coyotes, or even wolves that ate the slugs. Let’s be a little more than just cautious, he said to Trudy without divulging a reason. There was no need to upset her any more than she already was. Being lost wasn’t good, but being lost in a dangerous place was far worse.

Trudy felt the weight and undertone of his words. It didn’t take much thought to realize that he was implying danger. She too summoned visions of dangerous animals roaming in the wild.

There were too many strange things. Neither of them dared to speak the truth aloud, but they both felt that they were not in Kansas. They froze as a faint song drifted upon a gentle breeze. Somebody was singing. Trevor received an eager nod when he placed his finger to his lips for a vote of caution. Regardless of where they were, they could be trespassing on private land.

I think it’s coming from over there by those trees, Trevor whispered while pointing. They laid flat against the rock to hide their silhouettes as best they could. What do you think? he whispered. Should we check it out?

Trudy enthusiastically nodded in agreement.

They slid back and over the side of the rock to sneak in for a closer look.

They ran crouched over to stay hidden by the waist-tall grass. The landscape seemed to shift in order to aid their travel. The grass was only ankle to calf deep when they started. It seemed that once the grass determined what the kids were trying to do, it grew to accommodate their desire. Far more noticeable was the grass parting before them. The grass made a path for them!

They stopped behind the squat—though massive—tree that Trevor had initially selected as a vantage point. The bulge near its base provided an ample hiding place for the two of them. They regained their breath as quietly as they could. The distance should have taken them longer to cross. That compounded the queasy feeling of seeing the grass grow at an unbelievable rate. It had to be the wind that parted the grass, but Trevor didn’t feel the slightest breeze as they crossed the distance to the tree. A rush of goose bumps erupted on his skin, and Trevor restrained himself from rubbing them into submission. He felt like he was being watched.

Can you see everything moving out of the corner of your eyes? Trudy asked in a broken whisper. When you look directly, it stops. But everything’s moving. The grass grew! she whispered frantically with panic seeping into in her voice.

Trevor thought he could feel it as much as see it, and that set his stomach into a fit of queasiness. Yes, he whispered to answer her fear. He didn’t want to dwell on it. He had to remain strong for her sake even though they seemed to be taking turns with what little courage they had left. He inched around the edge of the bulge in the tree and took a peek. No way, he whispered forcefully on returning to her side. Trevor was oblivious to scrunching his backpack as he slid down the smooth-barked tree. He sat on his haunches and stared into nothing.

Trudy didn’t like what she read in her brother’s expression. She tiptoed around him to the edge of the tree for a peek. She returned to slide down beside him. She stared straight ahead as she rendered her opinion. Way, and way too big, she choked softly. Singing?!

The words of the sad song started to make sense. There was a four-foot tall, one hundred and fifty pound hummingbird perched on a rock on the far side of the tree… singing!

Trevor and Trudy crept back to the edge of the tree to synchronize their eyes with their ears so that their minds could be coaxed to believe the thoughts that bombarded their numbed noggins.

My name is Ho and I cannot fly. When the flowers wilt, I will surely die. My name is Ho, and I’m migratory. In all too soon, it’s the end of the story. My name is Ho, and I feel so dumb. My get up and go, hangs on a… The hummingbird sputtered, coughed, and then exhaled a humongous sigh as she failed to get the word hum out of her throat.

Hey, Ideas! Imagination called back to her brother. I found it! Over here!

Ideas slid up on a sillyslime to examine his sister’s claim.

See? I told you—it’s a little hummingbird, Imagination exclaimed, quite proud of herself.

You call that little? Ideas asked sarcastically. A stern look from his sister changed his tune. What’s wrong, little bird? Ideas asked.

I can’t fly, Ho sighed. I’ve got the… well, you know… I’m a… I don’t feel very good, Ho concluded with a choked cough.

I know what’s wrong, Imagination said tenderly. You’ve got the humdrums.

Oh no! Ideas proclaimed in mock terror, slapping his palms to the cheeks of his open-mouthed expression. You’re hummless. Well isn’t that a real humdinger of a problem? Ideas burst into laughter. His response earned him a swift kick in the shin from his sister. Ouch, ouch, ouch! he yelped as he held his shin while hopping off into the grass on the foot that he didn’t stick in his mouth.

We’re going to take her to the wizard, Imagination proclaimed.

Get Serious! Ideas yelped while hopping.

Ho looked down, quite apparently hurt by Ideas’ response to her peril.

Oh why not, it’s worth a try, Imagination said, coaxing her brother into agreement.

How much is a try worth? Ideas paused in his hopping to ask with a grin.

A clobbering if you don’t agree, Imagination answered.

Okay… let’s Get Serious, Ideas agreed.

Then it’s settled, Imagination decreed. Come on, little hummingbird. We’ll take you to Get Serious.

What? The question came from behind the hummingbird struck hummless. Trevor and Trudy were peeking around the tree and became lost to the wonder of the madness. They simultaneously spoke their thought aloud and it was a very, very, very loud, thought.

I was right! I was right! Ideas danced in place. I could feel somebody flying through the lightning fork. It made my bulb glow. Ideas pointed to the light bulb strapped to his head. Hupeople! Ideas gloated to the point of lighting up. He basked in his glow while waiting for his sister to acknowledge his brilliance.

Attention! Imagination barked the order. The tree sucked in its potbelly and puffed out his massive chest to stand at attention.

It was an old soldier tree. Trevor and Trudy were exposed in the space vacated by the retracted potbelly.

Pot ya! Imagination declared. Come on out, all you hupeople, Imagination said to those attempting to hide behind the tree.

Ahhhhhhhh, I just hate those odd double-u’s! Ideas moaned while placing his hands over his ears and turning in slow circles. Why can’t you just say w-people and get it over with? Confounded compounded double-u’s make me so dizzy, he complained before passing out.

Imagination rendered an explanation with a shrug. Too heavy of a glow gets him every time he lights up. We’re supposing it’s a double zwheeze but pardon us please, I just simply refuse to say hu-man or hu-woman. It seems as impolite as a hey-hu. But compounded double-u’s are bad grammar. Well… Introductions are in order, she said, clearing her throat and acting regal. I am Princess Imagination, that is my little brother Prince Ideas, and of course this is Ms. Ho the Hummless of which malady we hope to remedy shortly by returning her to her humming ability.

Trevor and Trudy stood by the tree and assessed the situation. Four-foot tall talking hummingbirds seemed to be the least of their worries. The light bulb on the unconscious Prince’s head was blinking tilt. The grass was wreathing to get as far away from the bulb as possible. Princess Imagination had a crown of hodgepodge, which apparently contributed to her imagination. It wouldn’t have been so hard to take if their skin wasn’t royal blue and their hair bright purple.

As you were, Command Sergeant Major Bark, Imagination ordered.

The tree let out a Phew. The potbelly nudged Trevor and Trudy on returning to its natural form of major bulge.

Trevor looked at the tree and rushed into a whispered chant of denial. Tell me the tree didn’t say phew, tell me the tree didn’t say phew. Please tell me the tree didn’t say phew. His repetitious attempt of reassuring denial did little to relieve his trial of disbelief.

Trudy came to her senses first. Your majesty, she said with a curtsy.

Oh I’m just a princess, Imagination said with a violet blush. How should I call you?

Just Trudy, Princess Imagination, Trudy replied graciously.

Well, Just Trudy, I’m so pleased to meet you.

No Princess Imagination, Trudy! No ‘just,’ Trudy said to clarify the error.

"I’m gonna lose it," Trevor thought.

Trudy, Just Trudy, Trudy, you jest, Ideas said, rolling to his side to address the new huperson. If you will beg my pardon for the Hu infusion in my confusion as I latch onto this delusion… I’m getting dizzy again, he added, crossing his eyes. His light bulb flashed dimly as he passed out most ungraciously.

Imagination knew that simply being in the Soldier’s Hollow weighed heavily on her brother. He was connected to the trees. Mother Nature had saved the trees after the Great War so that the trees could pass on their shame of involvement in the war to the future generations of royalty. The Soldier’s Hollow in Reception Valley was but one of several places that processed new arrivals. The valley’s proximity to the Royal summer estate allowed it to claim the title of Reception. The two new arrivals seemed to have no conception of where they were. In the old soldier tree not announcing Trevor and Trudy to the prince and princess meant that the new arrivals had yet to receive the customary indoctrination by the trees into the customs of Ouroh.

Trevor had more than he could handle. My name is Trevor, and the time to get serious is, now!

Yes, my lord, Imagination said most hastily and graciously. Welcome to Ouroh, she added in a fit of panic. Imagination blew rainbow dust on all of them to suspend their thoughts. Her limited Dust License only allowed her to dust in order to incapacitate in an emergency situation. Although the dust license specified transport of those in need of medical assistance, she stretched the word emergency and deciphered mental aid in a way that would be questionable to others. It was a mental quandary, since the only recipient remotely in need of aid was her brother who was coming to and not fit for travel. She hurriedly tied the new arrivals together with fairyhair and hopped on a sillyslime before you could say zilchola. To the new arrivals, the twinkle toe tow job happened in the blink of a slinky.

Trevor blinked… then he stood before a distinguished-looking gentleman in a curious top hat that was again half as tall as the gentleman wearing it. The top hat had a polka-dot brim which split like a cloverleaf. Flowing from the brim were four especially tall loppy-topped top hats. Two hat sections were a maddening multicolored blend of stripes and plaids that alternated with two sections of multicolored polka-dots. Rainbow-colored ribbons were wrapped around the mid-sections of the top hats, and so tied together, the ribbons kept the top hats from flopping too far out of control. Trevor felt a little queasy as the polka dots failed to remain stationary and the stripes randomly crisscrossed to form new patterns.

Double Yfor at your service Sir. I am Mayor of Ourtown and therefore Ourtown’s Mayor. Welcome to Ourtown. The Mayor removed his hat and bowed to Trevor.

Why for? Trevor questioned.

Yfor did not interpret Trevor’s words as a question. He thought the young lord was being kind in elevating the Mayor’s rank to the Royals by dropping the customary title and position exchange protocol. The direct use of his last name was as close as you could get to a first-name basis. The mere thought was silly, but it was the kindest thing that ever happened to the Mayor of Ourtown. Oh, thank you, Lord Trevor. I do hate formalities. Yfor at your service, my lord. He hoped that he hadn’t overextended his bounds. After all, he was only the mayor of the town that doubled as the summer home for the royal family. His civic position wasn’t in any way linked to their royal position or responsibilities.

Get serious, Trevor said in a stunned monotone.

Oh… and direct to boot. How refreshing. The wizard is in the garden, Sir. The mayor ushered Trevor down the cobblestone street to a path that ended at a newly painted white garden gate.

The entourage followed in silence. Trevor’s demands and command of the situation left everyone speechless.

Trevor lifted the latch in a fit of frustrated confusion.

You don’t have to take it out on me, husperson, the Gate said as Trevor hastily pushed the gate open. It was a toss-up as to who was more irritated, the garden gate or Trevor.

Trevor’s hand jumped behind his back. He took a sideways step, looking at the latch as if it might bite.

The gate hinges squealed at the unexpected behavior that managed to freeze Trevor in his tracks. Then the gate cleared its throat from the main face that protruded from the arched top-board. I might be a bit rusty in my etiquette, the Gate said, but that doesn’t make me a turnstile. I’m quite unswerving, young huperson, I assure you of that. The hinges squeaked in a high-pitched giggle as the face held a stern look.

Thank you for entrance, Sir Gate, Trevor sputtered in a broken voice.

Did you hear that? the garden gate exclaimed, nearly bursting from its hinges. The young lord called me ‘Sir Gate.’

Trevor did his best to hang onto his wits. He rushed recklessly into the densely overgrown garden and into a variable veritable vegetable maze that was twice his height. He was preoccupied with the gate as he quickly rounded a dense tomato growth to collide with an old man that could only be described as a wizard.

The sprinkler can the wizard was holding turned on its slender neck to pour out a loud, extracted, and very wet, Wellllll, Excuuuuse Me! The bench-row of flowerpots burst into laughter as Trevor was drenched.

Trudy stepped up to stand aghast on her brother’s right side. Although she was no less bewildered by the chain of events, she immediately resolved to not take anything at face value. These oddities needed confronting. Trudy huffed as she marched around the wizard to the nearest small flowerpot on the bench and lifted it without warning. The water rushed through the hole in its bottom, splashing on the nearby pots. The face protruding from the pot crossed its eyes in a look of forced relief. It’s empty! she declared on examining the small pot.

What did you expect, young lady? You just emptied it, the wizard challenged the young upstart. It appears that you have never grown pots. However do you garden?

I’d hate to see how you deal with a little weed, Ms. Grab ’n Pull! a large pot said gruffly from the ground behind her.

Most definitely not a weed herder, the middle of the three bench-row small pots said while looking Trudy up and down in close inspection.

She could be a potcracker; I don’t feel safe, the last small pot in the row gasped in horror.

Trudy set the pot down slowly. Then she bent abruptly to stick her nose within inches of the cantankerous clay. Okay! I’ve had about enough out of you. Keep it up and I’ll put the hurt on you like a puff on the fluff of a seedy dandelion. A few moments passed before she was convinced that the wide-eyed pot got the message. Then Trudy crossed her arms as she stood and turned to cast her irritation on the wizard with a very serious eye. Ouroh did something to her, something she could not explain, and she confronted madness with a will of resolve.

Get Serious filed his rank. The young lady was definitely not intimated by his position.

Would you please be so kind as to examine the hummingbird named Ho? Imagination interrupted.

Most certainly, Princess, the Wizard said with a sigh of relief. What have we here, little hummingbird? He had to duck under the yard-long beak while turning Ho’s head side to side in examination.

Little? Ideas shook his head in disbelief.

Not by my jolly green Ho Ho Ho, Trevor loomed to boom. He had an ally as he too thought the bird a bit absurd. She’d scare the topknot off a Sumo, he added.

You two cut it out! Imagination crossed her arms and stood elbow to elbow with Trudy. The battle lines were drawn.

Get Serious ignored the prattle. He flipped his wrist and a yardstick appeared. Stick your tongue out and say aaaaah, he instructed his patient. Ho did as requested. Get Serious depressed Ho’s yard-long tubular tongue and looked down her throat. Normal. He rendered his diagnosis to himself. With a flick of his wrist, a candle with a switch on its side replaced the yardstick.

Trevor smiled in appreciation at the sleight-of-hand trick. He knew how difficult it was to master the feat of deception.

With an audible click, the candle came to life, shedding an intense beam of light. Get Serious lifted a tuff of feathers and peered in Ho’s ear.

The feathers on Ho’s head glowed on the side opposite of the candle during each ear’s inspection. Trevor suppressed the urge to comment on the fact that Ho was an airhead.

Get Serious sighed while he flicked his wrist and snapped his fingers to summon a large weather thermometer. And umm… ah… just lift your wing, he ended abruptly.

Once under the wing, the Thermometer screamed, Yippeeeeeeeeeee skippeeeeeeeee, this is the pits! The thermometer turned bright red in reaction to Ho’s body heat.

Get Serious withdrew the thermometer as it broke into a sweat. Yowl! he yelled as the Thermometer sizzled in his hand. It was all he could do the keep from dropping it. In a flash he placed his wand under the middle of the sagging Thermometer.

Phew, the Thermometer gasped, falling limply to swing like opposing pendulums under the wand. Hot Ho, Hot Ho, Hot Ho! the Thermometer yelped to warn others of the fever.

It’s worse than I thought! Get Serious exclaimed. It’s not a simple case of ho-hum brought on by emotionitis. Emotionitis is common in hummingbirds, you know. They worry themselves into frenzy when the migration season approaches. Putting on several times your normal body weight only to lose it during a single flight does seem like a bit of a plight, but that is their lot.

Trevor blinked his eyes and shook his head in disbelief. The thought of Ho on the wing was beyond his imagination, even now, with his imagination in overdrive.

Get Serious read Trevor’s expression and paused for the young huperson to catch up. With the flick of his wrist the Thermometer and his wand vanished so that his hand could assist his words by expression. But this case is much, much worse than emotionitis, he continued with outstretched hands to induce an appeal to reason. She won’t pull out of it on seeing another of her kind flying overhead on the migration route. I’m afraid that Ho has the goo!

Not the goo! everything shouted in unison.

Trevor and Trudy did not share in the panic. They were paralyzed by the outburst as the vegetables came to life in worried voices to accompany the pots and other ourohnians.

It’s too early for goo season, Yfor said worriedly. Anyway, I think it is. This recycled time stinks.

What is the goo, where are we, how did we get here, who are you, and what in blue blazes is going on? Trevor howled with clenched fists.

I’m so confused, Trudy added. Tears formed in the corner of her eyes as her emotions exacted the cost of eccentric events.

Yfor turned over the large empty pot while Imagination guided Trudy to sit upon the pot. Imagination’s stern look silenced the pot’s groaning protest at becoming a bottom up bottom holder.

Undignified, The Large Pot grumbled softly from its inverted position. He knew better than to mess with Imagination, let alone this wild-eyed huperson called Trudy. She had already shown that she could potentially smoke a pot in a puff of anger.

Of course, young Sir, Get Serious said to stay a repeated barrage from Trevor. He stepped to stand before the garden’s visitors and took a moment to gather his thoughts. Though perhaps not in the requested order… Get Serious began as he half-crossed his arms, leaving one hand free to allow his finger to twirl his long beard in contemplation. He wasn’t briefed on any upcoming visitations, so the two had to have arrived by accident. Perhaps a reiteration of the basics would help the new arrivals. Hu are in the land of Ouroh and hu got here the same way every huperson from your Oh enters our Oh unexpectedly. He spread his arms wide. Hu traveled between the lighting’s forks as they merged to touch the ground.

You mean there are more of us here? You say ‘here’ like I’m not on Earth, Trevor interrupted, not in the slightest understanding of where here was.

Hu are no longer on your Oh, or as hu say if I am correct in understanding where ‘you’ say you’re from, ‘on your planet.’ Get Serious spoke as if Trevor should have already come to that conclusion. We get a lot of travelers from your Oh due to the relationship of Multiversal Overlap. Our Ohs do not share the same exact multiversal space, but they both share multiversal space with another Oh or Ohs in different multiverses. Our two Ohs’ uniqueness has a bit of unusual consequences in the multiverses. But let us not dwell in the redundancies of sets. So please accept for the moment that hu are from Ohverthere and…

Trevor interrupted in an attempt to get a single answer to a single question. He definitely did not like the sound of You are from over there. There were only two of us on the paraglider and you are sounding like there were more of us. Please explain!

I have an idea that they missed processing, Ideas interceded of his friend’s behalf.

Ya think, Get Serious sounded as if Ideas explained the obvious ineffectively. The young huperson maintained eye contact as if he was not going to accept a simple explanation. I hope that hu traveled here alone, but trust in the fact that others have come before hu, Get Serious said with a sigh. Unattended unintended accidents were thrice as complicated as the standard oops. Get Serious cast a look at the Royals, indicating that he would personally look into the indoctrinating failure of the new arrivals. "On a recent insistence of the Queen that should have barred an accident, the allowance is only one individual or small group per instance. On proof of the later, your presence must be forwarded to the Royal Pastforked Office. I will check the incident versus accident records to see if hu were inadvertently