Tinsey Clover and the Tree of Balance

By Chelsea Walker Flagg

Three weeks after helping end a period of segregation, 12-year-old Tinsey Clover feels great now that her forest is more inclusive of all its different people. But, the happy feeling doesn't last long when some of the Icelandic villages express their disgust with the new treaty.

When someone steals a special stone, and representa

• Language: English
• Publisher: Chelsea Walker Flagg
• Release date: Jun 22, 2020
• ISBN: 9780996728447

Chelsea Walker Flagg

Chelsea is a writer and stay-at-home mother to her three practically perfect daughters. She lives in Boulder, Colorado with her husband and kids. Even though she was once obsessed with cats, she has no current plans to own one.

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

Walking to the end of my brand-new tree house platform, I turn my left foot forward to face super straight, right along the edge. One foot. I stick one arm out for balance and pinch my earlobe with the hand of my other arm, just for double balance. I set my right foot in front of my left foot in a single line. Two feet.

My feet continue taking turns, one in front of the other, as I walk around the perimeter, crunching through the leaves. Ugh. I just swept my platform yesterday. Autumn is clearly not a time for keeping things tidy around here. Thirty-three, thirty-four. Yes! My calculations were correct. My platform is exactly thirty-four feet around. Forty-seven feet off the ground and thirty-four feet around. The perfect dimensions for a tree house. Capital C cool.

A chipmunk jumps off a nearby branch and lands with a clacking of nails on the platform. It scatters a new coat of leaves all over the place. Pesky critter. I try to shoo it away, but it’s practically my same size and clearly isn’t afraid of me. A loud sigh comes out of my mouth without me even trying, making my purple bangs blow up and off my forehead. I guess that’s what I get for building something up in a tree.

I close my eyes, picture a broom in my mind, and snap my fingers. When I turned eleven, that became my elfin magic. The ability to make cleaning tools appear from out of nowhere. Odd, right? I thought it was lame at first, too. I’ve gotten used to it, though. And, I have to say, it’s not half bad. It definitely helps to keep my tree house tidy.

Only, a broom doesn’t appear. Nothing does. No dust of sparkles in the air, no cleaning tools at all. A gust of cold, winter wind rolls through instead. I wrap my hands around my arms and give them a good, warming rub. It feels far too early for such things as winter winds, but nature can be finicky sometimes, I guess. Maybe my hands are too cold to properly snap right now?

I lift my fingers up to try again, but before I can, I see movement out of the corner of my eye. There’s something wandering in the meadow, otherwise known as the engi. That’s the benefit of being up high in a tree. I can see practically everything. A little gray blob is hobbling along much slower than it should be for being out in the wide-open meadow. What is it? It looks way too stout to be a fox. Plus, it’s running on two legs, not four. Besides, I’ve never seen a fox with rosy cheeks and a long beard.

He’s only one-hundred-and-fifty feet away from the Snugglepunk border now, based on my best guesstimate. I didn’t know we were expecting any visitors today. Since our border just opened up three weeks ago, I’m still not used to seeing anyone other than trealfur elves wandering around these parts.

I snap off a dry stick and scrape it against the nearest branch. The sound makes my spine tingle all over. A bit of the bark peels off. I pick it up and squint one eye. The tottering man is only ninety feet away now. Sixty feet in less than a minute. Factoring in the slight wind in the air, I cock my arm and chuck the piece of bark down at the moving target. It flies straight toward the man, then gets lost in his beard. I’ll consider it a bullseye.

What the…? The man stops and looks straight up at me.

My stomach suddenly knots up. Why in the world did I just do that? I’m finding that sometimes eleven-year-old bodies do random things before really thinking it through. My parents would not be pleased with me. Still, I can’t show this guy I didn’t mean to throw a stick at him. I stand taller and put my hands on my hips. Putting your hands on your hips is always a sure sign of confidence.

What do you want? I shout down, not sure if he’ll hear me.

Yer queen!

Yup, he can hear me.

What does he want with my mom?

Well, I say, pushing my fists even firmer into my sides so he doesn’t see my arms shaking. You can’t have her!

The bearded man hobbles forward again, until he’s practically standing right underneath my platform. He’s probably twice my size. And much, much rounder than any trealfur elf I’ve ever seen. I wonder for a split second if he might just roll away if a gust of wind blew through the engi right now. Even if he did, he probably wouldn’t get very far with that huge white beard of his. It covers everything from nose all the way down to his chest, so I can’t tell what sort of mouth he has. Or chin. Or neck. What I do see are his shiny pink cheeks that look more like baby crab apples.

I ain’t gonna take yer queen, he says without his beard moving one bit. I’m jus’ here for the meetin’.

Meeting? What meeting? I give him another once over. Can I really trust this man with his unmoving beard?

What are you? I think I’m just wondering the words in my head, but it turns out my mouth actually has said them out loud.

Whaddya think I am, missy?

I have no idea.

Can ya jus’ take me ta see yer queen, please? he asks with a sigh. Even still, his beard doesn’t move a bit. I promise ya, she invited me here.

I guess I don’t have any reason to not trust this guy. I push my fists back onto my hips just to keep it clear to him that I’m strong and brave.

Fine, I say in my boldest voice.

I scramble the forty-seven feet down the trunk of my tree. Yup, he’s twice my size.

Follow me, I say.

Thank ya, missy, he says in a super grateful voice. By the way, my name’s Winston P. Squiggles. I’m a yuleman.

CHAPTER 2

Man, this guy sure moves like a snail. He’s twice my size, but I have to keep slowing down so he can catch up with me. Still, I have to admit, something about that waddle makes me like him. I think of Uncle Vondur. And my Grandpa Clover. They were certain every huldufolk that wasn’t a trealfur elf was bad. That’s why they kept the border of Snugglepunk closed. Not anymore, though. Now that Mom’s the queen, anyone and everyone can come and go as they please. It’s pretty awesome. Nix that, it’s really awesome.

Pick up the pace, old man! a shrill voice shouts from behind Mr. Squiggles.

That voice clearly didn’t come from the yuleman, but I don’t see anyone else around.

The meeting will be over before you even get there at this rate!

How mean.

A glint of wings about the size of a hummingbird flits in the air, right next to Mr. Squiggles’ head. The yuleman lifts his chubby hand and swats at the thing. But the little glint dodges and moves to hover right in front of Mr. Squiggles’ face.

It looks like a tiny winged woman. She must be a sprite!

Talk about beautiful. Even though her wings are see-through, they still have this shimmery rainbow swirling inside them. I can’t look away.

Slow poke, slow poke, the sprite taunts, sticking her tiny thumbs into her ears and making her elbows move back and forth. Molasses on your feet folk!

Okay, this lady’s totally rude. On the other hand, I wouldn’t mind if Mr. Squiggles did pick up the pace just a bit.

Um, excuse me? I call out. No offense, but you’re actually blocking his way now, so he can’t even move at all.

The sprite whips around in a flash and flies right up in my face. Up close, I’m shocked to see that she has the face of a pig, snout and all. That is not what I was expecting. Her hair matches the blue of her wings. It’s stringy and sprouts out all over the place from the top of her head.

Um, excuse me, she says, repeating what I just said, only in a mocking, nasally tone. No offense, but I’m actually here because your queen invited me. So, there.

She turns to face Mr. Squiggles with a look that says can-you-believe-this-girl.

I’m hurt. And not because this tiny sprite is acting like a total punk to me, which she most certainly is. I’m hurt because Mom invited all these huldufolk to some grand meeting that she didn’t even tell me about. It’s like she doesn’t realize I’m eleven-and-one-full-quarter now. I deserve to know about important things like this.

Ne’r mind her. Mr. Squiggles waddles up to me and swats at the blue sprite. That’s Queen Blue. And you know sprites. Always so cheeky.

I try to make my mouth curl upward, like none of this bothers me one bit. But the harder I try, the more it wobbles. I turn around and walk so nobody can see the tears building up in my eyes. I don’t even care anymore if Mr. Squiggles can’t keep up.

I hold my head down all the way to the council spot.

Wow. My brother’s voice stings my ears. Didn’t expect to see you here. Who knew you ever actually left your tree house?

I scowl at Aspen, who’s sitting there in the council circle like he belongs. I can’t believe it. He got invited to this, but I didn’t? What gives? My tears won’t stay in any longer. They spill out all over my face until I feel like my head’s going to explode. That’s another thing