The Land Of: The Horrid Frontier

By Trebor Fairwell

A cold chill wakes Ted up in the middle of the night. He was
sure he had closed the window. He rubs his eyes and looks up.
Shattered glass was sprinkled across the hard wood fl oor of
his bedroom. A sharp point jabs his back. Terribly sorry about the
window, a deep voice says mockingly. What Ted had feared all along
was coming true. Not even a year ago Ted was thrust into a colorful
magical world called The Land Of. It was a world of wonder and
fantasy. Ted had soon learned it was also a world plagued by a dark
magic. The dark magic had followed him home. Everyone he loved
and trusted was now in danger. He knew where it would lead. All the
mystery and adventures of the past months had pointed him in one
direction: The Horrid Frontier.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Mar 21, 2013
• ISBN: 9781479758968

Trebor Fairwell

Trebor Fairwell was born in 1986. Seven years of his early life were spent in a Catholic Seminary where he acquired degrees in the Classical Humanities and Philosophy. He currently occupies a small apartment in the remarkable town of Front Royal. He spends his time teaching the finer points of French to the students at Chelsea Academy.

Book preview

Copyright © 2013 by Trebor Fairwell.

Library of Congress Control Number:      2012922650

ISBN:      Hardcover      978-1-4797-5895-1

                 Softcover      978-1-4797-5894-4

                 Ebook            978-1-4797-5896-8

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Rev. date: 03/19/2013

To order additional copies of this book, contact:

Xlibris Corporation

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Contents

Chapter 1: Lost and More Lost

Chapter 2: The Mysterious Mission

Chapter 3: Back to Reality

Chapter 4: What’s so Special?

Chapter 5: St. Michael’s Archangels

Chapter 6: Baptized

Chapter 7: Return to the Land Of

Chapter 8: Wosy’s World

Chapter 9: Persuasion

Chapter 10: The Big Game

Chapter 11: Old Beggar Cane

Chapter 12: Christmas Mysteries

Chapter 13: The Dark Purple Tiger

Chapter 14: Ruins and Rhymes

Chapter 15: A Knight in the Darkness

Chapter 16: Lost and Found

Chapter 17: A Conscience Problem

Chapter 18: Family, Friends, Foes

Chapter 19: Caroline’s Birthday Party

Chapter 20: Ted’s Archangel

Chapter 21: Valentine’s Day

Chapter 22: Magician in the Bedroom

Chapter 23: Unexpected Company

Chapter 24: Ransom at the Horrid Frontier

Chapter 25: Home Again

Chapter 26: Words of Confirmation

Dedication

To an Irishman I once knew. He had the wonder of a child and a way with words that turned the truth into something magical and majestic. All that is Good and True is Enchanting and Beautiful for those who see the world through eyes of wonder.

Not only can these fairy tales be enjoyed because they are moral, but morality can be enjoyed because it puts us in fairyland, in a world at once of wonder and of war.

G.K. Chesterton

All Things Considered

img01.jpg    Chapter 1: Lost and More Lost

T ed was fourteen and just barely. At fourteen, maybe he was too young, too small, and too childish to be sitting all alone on a park bench at the corner where Main Street crossed Oak Avenue. But he was sitting there anyway, and there were no loving grown-ups standing around him to make a fuss about it. That was fine with Ted. He was running away. And every kid his age knew running away became impossibly difficult once a nosey grown-up finds out.

If any grown-up ever did try sticking their nose into his business, he wouldn’t mind telling them that he was running away. He wasn’t running away from a home or a family or anything like that. He was four years an all-around orphan who didn’t even have an old great-aunt to send him chocolates for his birthday. Ted was running away from the orphanage, away from a very lonely nightmare.

The orphans called it the Milton’s Foster Farm. On average, fifteen to sixteen orphans—or livestock, as Mr. Milton sometimes referred to them—were fed and boarded there. Every year for the past four years, Ted had tried running away from the bad dream that began the day his parents died.

Ted had been attending a summer camp when news of his parents’ death reached him. It came in the form of a nightmare. At the end of camp, parents came and parents left, picking up their kids in cars of every size and color. Ted’s eyes rested on the road, waiting for his dad’s dark blue Cadillac. It never came. A horrible thought struck him, the thought that his parents might have forgotten him—his dad maybe, his mom never.

Counselors buzzed around the campgrounds cleaning out the cabins. They had asked him if he needed to call his parents. Ted smiled and said they were coming. Then the big black car pulled into the drive. A man dressed in a dark gray suit stepped out of the car—a professional-looking businessman, just like both his parents had been. Time was money, and not a second was wasted—Ted wasn’t his child; he went straight to the point. In the fewest words possible, Ted was told that his parents had died and that he was going to the Milton’s Foster Home in Omaha. From that point on, Ted’s only companions were loneliness, tears, and a melancholy that was broken up periodically by fits of frustration.

Ted’s parents had been rich… filthy rich. And they were richest the day before they died. The Miltons were always on the lookout for rich orphans. Ted’s case had them salivating. He was long past the baby-faced age of adoption. He’d be a lucrative asset to their foster farm business. Any orphan meant profit since the state usually paid the Miltons for their upkeep, but nabbing Ted included the addition of his parents’ annual income, which was way up there.

Mr. Milton made it clear from the start that too much money would spoil someone Ted’s age. Every orphan received the same speech. Under the pretext of teaching a spoiled child the virtue of frugality and thrift, Ma and Pa Milton forwarded all Ted’s monthly payments, which came in little white envelopes stamped with the seal of the government, to the Milton children abroad and their honorable causes.

Hard to believe, but the Miltons had real children of their own, two of them. And they were all off doing great and noble things in Europe, canvassing for animal rights and promoting peace between the species. The Miltons spoke of them as if they were cuddly little toddlers. Little, they definitely were not. Ted had seen pictures of them. They had the big bulky shoulders and heavyset square jaw of their parents, features the orphans were unpleasantly familiar with.

All this might lead one to think the Miltons’ foster children were abused. Never. The idea was abhorrent even to the Miltons. The orphans were simply neglected. No child was ever treated harshly, only with indifference. They all lived their own wretched private lives, and these wretched lives they kept to themselves. Even though they were fifteen in all, or sixteen—the avaricious and plump Mrs. Milton didn’t even know exactly how many there were—Ted had always felt alone from the very first day he arrived.

Now, four years later—four years of rubbing elbows with the poor and needy—Ted sat on a park bench at an intersection, like a desperate man ready to jump. This was attempt number 4. As it had been the case the last three times, Ted didn’t have to worry about the Miltons sending a police squad after him. They’d hardly notice he was gone. The only reason he had ever returned before was for the food, which wasn’t worth a pig’s meal, but it filled an important void in his stomach.

This time, though, Ted was running away for good. He made up his mind before leaving; he promised himself, he promised his parents too—wherever they were—that he’d find a better life or die trying.

Ted’s head drooped as he gazed down at his football jersey. Part of the number had been torn off in a fight at the orphanage. The jersey was a gift from his dad. It didn’t fit him back when he pulled it out of the wrapping paper eight years ago, but it fit now and was even a little tight. He hardly wore anything else because he didn’t own anything else.

Ted sat there, head bowed. A dove landed several inches from his feet, pecking the ground. Ted was about to kick it, but he stopped himself. For several seconds, they stared at each other. Then Ted began talking. He knew it looked stupid and the dove probably didn’t care, but speaking to people who didn’t care about him was one of those habits he picked up at the Foster Farm.

You know, he said to the dove as if they’d long been partners at group therapy.

The bird cast a furtive glance at Ted from one side of its tilted head.

Ted continued. If you disappeared right now, just went POOF . . . I mean, at least I’d notice and I’d be like whoa! Me, whenever I disappear, no one really cares. If I just went poof, Ted said, throwing up his arms, all of a sudden…

Ted’s head fell down into his hands. It probably wouldn’t make any difference to anyone. He moaned. Don’t you ever feel like you’re that stinking little speck on the ground that’s not even worth sweeping up and throwing into the garbage! he shouted at the frightened pigeon, which had stayed around long enough to make Ted believe he was listening. If I disappeared nothing would go wrong… I guess that makes me useless. Ted chuckled a little at the morbid humor of it.

Ted’s laughter passed quickly, as quickly as the traffic on Main Street. No one driving by at the time thought twice about the boy seated on the park bench, not even when a red light brought them all to a halt. Everyone was bent tensely over their steering wheel, impatiently waiting for the light to change.

A small gaggle of shoppers hurried to catch the crossing signal. They got there seconds too late, right when the traffic light turned green. Engines roared, and cars whizzed by.

But once the traffic cleared and the flashing white light signaled pedestrians to cross, there was no boy sitting on the park bench, and there was no dove. Too much hustle and bustle, racing along at life’s frantic pace. Nobody noticed. Nobody cared. He wasn’t their kid. Their lives were untouched, just as Ted suspected, but not everything would remain unchanged, and not everyone’s lives would go untouched.

It was like nothing Ted had ever experienced, and yet it didn’t feel the least bit extraordinary. He had only blinked, eyes closed for a split second. The next thing Ted knew, he wasn’t in downtown Omaha anymore. He opened his eyes and found himself sitting on a moss-covered log in a lush, verdant grove he’d never seen before. Above him, leaves and branches formed an olive green canopy that, like a giant stained-glass window, transformed the penetrating sunlight into various hues. Ted soaked it all in with a dumb stare. And before anything like fear or wonder could register, everything turned suddenly dark. All noise ceased, not a bird was chirping or a tree swaying.

Fear held Ted’s breath until the sun’s light returned to illumine the grove. He looked around nervously, rising slowly to his feet. A hurried flutter of wings caught Ted by surprise and made his heart jump. He looked up and saw a white bird vanishing into the sky.

He turned to the log. Nothing about it gave Ted so much as the slightest explanation. Ted searched it for a button or a lever, or anything he could have mistakenly pressed or touched that would account for why he was no longer sitting on a park bench. He paced the area cautiously, exploring the surroundings with his eyes and ears, attentive and suspicious.

A natural grove, nothing more: no electric lights or pavement, not even a telephone pole. Along with the strange fact that Ted had gone from downtown Omaha to this secret garden in the blink of an eye, Ted also sensed something uncanny about this place, something wondrously mysterious and enchanted.

The colors were more vivid and crisp; the trees were blossoming, full of life and vigor. A clean, sparkling stream cut through the middle of the grove, dancing over the twigs and pebbles, playing, splashing joyfully, the only noise worth mentioning.

There was nothing civilized about the little grove, no garden lights or cobblestone paths. Ted was looking for civilization… food rather. He was still just as hungry as he’d been on the park bench.

He wandered away from the grove, looking for signs of life—maybe a farm or a ranch, anything. But as the trees thinned and Ted moved away from the grove, he was shocked by the sight that gradually opened up before him. As far as the eye could see, there was nothing but a smooth blanket of emerald green draped over a landscape of swelling hills—no roads, no skyscrapers, no landmarks, no bus stops, no houses, nothing at all to suggest the recent presence of modernity. For a city boy used to grimy streets and moldy walls, the experience was thrilling… overwhelmingly thrilling.

He ran back to the forest, straight to the grove, and he sat back down on the log in the grove. Thoughts raced wildly through his head. I’m lost, he murmured to himself. I’m lost. I’m lost. I’m lost, 100 percent lost, no hope of finding my way back! His confusion ended in a shout. I’m lost!

His gaze fell to the stream. He’d heard something in school about streams leading to civilization or county fairs or something like that. Decidedly, he got back to his feet and began walking.

He walked alongside the shimmering water until his feet, legs, and head were all sick and tired of walking. He saw trees, trees, and a lot more trees. Occasionally, he spotted a bush with several flowers so beautiful he’d stopped to admire them without realizing. But the river grew neither bigger nor smaller. After hours of frustration, sensing a complete lack of progress, he finally threw himself down on the grass, stretching out his exhausted legs.

It’s not that bad, Ted thought out loud. I can’t go back. The idea was wonderfully hallucinating. No more Milton’s, never again, not even if he died of hunger.

He smiled, staring up at the clouds, satisfied that he had actually disappeared. He couldn’t say that he missed anyone, not really. There wasn’t anyone to miss, and no one would miss him. The Miltons only cared about his money. They’d throw a party if they ever realized he was gone.

Then Ted heard a soft murmuring in the woods. Someone was talking in the forest. Ted sat up. Who’s there?

The murmuring stopped. Ted eased himself back down, keeping a careful eye on a small bunch of trees across the stream. He heard the noise again, someone whispering. Ted listened carefully but couldn’t make out what was said.

No wonder! Ted exclaimed, kicking his legs in the air. I’ve gone crazy!

Yes, it would certainly seem so, returned a gruff, elderly voice.

Ted jumped to his feet, scared stiff. Who said that? he asked frantically, his trembling voice cracked.

We can certainly rule you out. The voice chuckled mockingly. And since there’s just the two of us, it must have been me.

Ted squinted and looked in the direction of the voice but didn’t see anybody. Where are you? he said slowly.

Oh, what silly questions? the voice remarked snobbishly. I’m right here, you… you thing, the wispy voice replied insultingly. Step forward. I’d like to have a word with you.

Ted couldn’t believe his ears or his eyes. The voice was coming from a dense thicket just in front of him. He was staring straight at it, through it even. All he saw was a tangled bush of knotted thorns and vines.

Impolite sprout! the invisible voice shouted. Don’t just stand there as if you were a potted plant. I said I have a question, and I like to look my dwellers in the face when I speak to them.

Ted didn’t know how to react. He’d never encountered a speaking bush before. What if it was dangerous? The closest thing he’d ever seen to a talking bush was a man-eating tomato plant he saw in a horror movie. Man-eating thorn bushes must be ten times worse, especially when they’re angry. When the branches began shaking violently, he decided it was better to make friends rather than enemies. He took a few cautious steps forward.

Good, good. Right there… no, no, no, not too close. Back! it shouted. You’re stepping on my roots. Ted jumped back a foot.

The thicket coughed, apparently to clear its throat, whatever that meant for a thicket. Very well, now, whatever you are, allow me to introduce myself. I’m a Tympherny and go by Baldric… em, yes. That will do for now. But I do say, you are the oddest thing on two feet that I have ever seen! Tell me, what are you?

Ted Talbot, my name’s Ted…

Ted was interrupted by an angry rustle amid Baldric’s branches. No! I don’t care who you are, feebleminded sapling. I want to know what you are.

I don’t understand… Baldric, sir?

Yes. He laughed pretentiously. You may very well be a hybrid or I-don’t-understand of sorts.

Oh! Ted exclaimed as it suddenly dawned on him. I’m a human.

A human! I see, Baldric cried out in a scholarly tone of discovery. His voice grew inquisitive. Is a human generally as blind as you are?

I’m not blind! Ted protested.

Not blind? The bush chuckled to itself, apparently in disagreement. Eleven full circles following the same stream and you say you’re not blind. Well, I say you’re either blind or terribly stupid… perhaps even dangerously stupid.

I’m not blind, and I’m not stupid. What’s stupid is thinking you can run circles following a stream. They are supposed to go somewhere like a pond or a lake.

Go somewhere! Ha! The Tympherny broke into a fit of delirious, derogatory laughter that uppity people tend to have when they think they’re looking down. What a silly shallow-brained human you are. Now I’m persuaded that you’re merely stupid. Why should a stream go anywhere? Ha! Ridiculous! he blurted. Don’t you see that if a stream did go anywhere, it would run out of water? And if somehow streams didn’t run out of water, but all spilled into lakes or ponds, the world would very soon be flooded?

Ted thought it over a bit… and he had to agree he’d never seen things that way before. I guess so.

There was an extremely awkward silence. Baldric must have been studying him for further defects. Ted tried to bring the conversation around to a more important matter, such as figuring out what had happened to downtown Omaha all of a sudden.

Mr. Baldric, sir, I really don’t think I’m as stupid as you say, but I’m lost. Could you tell me where I am?

My mindless little human friend, he exploded jovially, I won’t deny that I have noticed that you are… shall we say, slightly lost. But you must indeed be extremely, irremediably lost if you don’t know where you are.

Ted was feeling stupider by the minute. But how am I supposed to know where I am if I’m lost?

Human. Baldric gave a deprecating cough that Ted thought served the thicket’s vanity more than its throat. "I’ve tried being pleasant, but if it’s not too insulting, I can explain to you your exact location… Would that be too insulting?

Ted scratched the back of his neck, wondering if the insults could get any worse. No, go ahead.

You are here. The bush spoke with surprising conviction and authority, then paused for the profound truth to sink in.

It was a bit frustrating that Baldric should be taking advantage of him this way. And where is here? he asked, fighting the temptation to step forward, and dig his heel into Baldric’s roots.

Well, now, if you are not consummately stupid and exceedingly blind, I don’t know what in the land is? I fear you have obliged me to reveal how acutely dim-witted you are, poor human. Here happens to be right here, between me and that flower, for example. I don’t believe we could be any more precise.

That was it for Ted. He jammed his heel into the soil as hard as he could. Stop playing around with me! he yelled.

But it turned out that Baldric wasn’t a defenseless shrub. A supple thorn branch swung up into the air and snapped against the back side of his right thigh. The thorns tore a hole in his jeans.

Ted took off running, more from an imaginary man-eating tomato plant than from an upset Tympherny named Baldric.

He set out toward the east… or the west. He couldn’t really tell. The sun was so high in the sky that there was no telling the direction by looking at it. He liked to think he was heading east, just in case he met another Baldric. Then he could say he wasn’t running around in circles. The truth was that he was wandering aimlessly, hurried along by a sense of panic.

He’d been running for minutes. The adrenaline was all used up, and he was tired again and still hungry. He saw what looked like mushrooms growing out of the trees. Mushrooms… he wasn’t a big fan of mushrooms, but with the way his stomach felt at the moment, anything would do. He bent down and grabbed one. The smell was sweet, and the white flesh was soft and marshmallow-like. He took a tiny bite.

The morsel swirled in his mouth as he savored it. It was sugary and had a slight, almost ticklish, feel. Trusting to fate that it wasn’t poisonous, Ted finally swallowed. All the pain his stomach had been feeling vanished. One more bite left him full and satisfied. Ted stuffed the rest into his jean pocket and went about picking more. Arms full, pockets bloated with what Ted officially named mushmellow, he continued on his way.

He was happy with himself. Now, he was perfectly lost, with no chance of ever seeing the Milton’s again, and he had enough food to last him for weeks. But he began to worry. He’d been looking into the forest, wondering if there were deer or maybe even moose in these parts. And he started to see tiny dots of light. Red, white, yellow, and blue flashes drifted slowly toward him and hovered around him. He looked down at his stash of mushmellows and groaned.

A large pile of mushmellows behind him, Ted pushed forward with his hands crossed, hoping the effects weren’t permanent. He saw plenty of things and felt like he had a whole firework display dancing around him as he went. The light show didn’t last more than half an hour, and Ted was glad when it ended.

As he tramped along, the forest slowly changed. Trees grew taller and farther apart, and he began to hear sounds. His ears picked up on a soft airy whistle. There was no mistaking it for a bird; it had to be a musician. His hope of finding someone sensible was resurrected, so he began to hunt down the source of the song. The tune was light and almost joyful, but not quiet. Three long shrill notes were followed by a quick trill up the scale and then a silent pause in which the last note lingered.

The melody filled the forest and echoed back like chant in a cathedral. It led Ted up a little slope to a point where the hill rounded off like a broad overturned bowl. There he stood, where the music was strongest, looking for someone but without seeing anyone. He feared it might be just another variation of Baldric.

Then during the silent pause, which was almost part of the song, Ted was surprised by a boyish laughter that seemed to come at him from all directions. There you are!

Ted scanned all about the forest. Up here. It was a boy sitting cross-legged on a high branch, peering down at Ted. Hello! the boy yelled into cupped hands. The boy’s lively green eyes were looking over a decorated bamboo pan pipe. His hair was so blond; it seemed pearl white. The ivy green apparel he wore reminded Ted of Peter Pan.

The boy put the whistle to his lips, puffed his cheeks, and blew. Three long shrill notes were followed by a quick run up the scale. The boy or fairy—whatever he was—tucked the flute into a leather pocket hanging from his neck. Are you glad I found you?

At first, Ted didn’t say anything. There was a shock issue he had to deal with first. When he agreed with himself that there was fairy boy actually talking to him, he recovered his tongue.

You mean, Ted replied, scratching his head, "aren’t I glad I found you?"

The boy or fairy—Ted was more inclined to think it was a fairy—smiled and laughed. Well, who’s lost around here, me or you? he asked in a silly tone. If you’re lost, how could you know where I am? And if you found me, you’d make both of us lost! The boy sat up straight in his perch. But luckily—he raised a finger in the air—I found you first. And I know where I am, he said proudly.

"You better think twice before you tell me that I’m here. Ted gritted his teeth, expecting another round of Baldric-like antics. I know that already."

At that, the boy fell into a fit of laughter; he fell right off the tree, floating down beside Ted, gripping his sides. The fairy had a jovially high-pitched repetitive laughter. Have you been talking with Baldric? There was an innocent humor in the fairy boy’s green eyes.

You know him… that voice in the thicket?

The fairy had another spasm of laughter. Voice in a thicket! he stuttered between laughs. Baldric wouldn’t like to hear you call him that. Baldric is a Tympherny, he stated knowledgeably.

What’s that?

We don’t know, the fairy answered frankly. That’s the mystery of it all. Like the rest of us, Baldric just showed up one day.

That’s kind of freaky… Ted murmured before realizing that he hadn’t introduced himself yet.

He held his hand out in a friendly gesture. Enough about Baldric. I’m Ted Talbot from Nebraska. What’s your name?

The fairy jumped back, startled. He didn’t know exactly what to do with Ted’s hand. He leaned over and examined it from different angles. Then with a nod of approval, he looked up. It’s seems fine to me. You’ll be all right.

Ted stood there slightly confused. No, I was introducing myself.

Leafir broke apart into more laughter, which was surprisingly amusing. When the fairy had laughed all the laughter out of himself, he got up panting. I know. It’s a game we play with new dwellers. Let’s try it again.

Ted held his hand out again. All right: My name’s Ted Talbot. That’s what people call me. What do they call you?

Oh, I haven’t met People yet, the fairy responded bashfully. But he calls you Ted, does he? That’s a good name. He stated this with a beaming smile on his face. They call me Leafir. I’m not sure if People would call me that, but everyone else does. I’ve been here for a while now. I remember the very first day—Leafir looked up into the sky—I thought it was just me and the birds in this forest…

But there was Baldric, right? Ted interrupted, trying to sound smart.

No, not even. Leafir shrugged. Baldric came after me. But there was a whole city of dwellers like you and me… sort of like you and me. Wosy showed me. They were all very strange things. They lived in a wonderful city surrounded by a gold wall all around…

The mention of a city got Ted’s attention. Can you take me there?

Leafir’s green eyes fell to the green ground. It was destroyed.

Who destroyed it?

We don’t talk about it. Wosy says better not to. Let’s get back to where we started. You’re lost, and I’m not. Leafir’s face, which had seemed to have aged a thousand years when he mentioned the mysterious city’s destruction, suddenly brightened. The shadow passed by like clouds revealing the sun.

Yeah, so where am I?

"Well, as Baldric told you, you are here. We call it the Land Of."

I’m sorry, I didn’t catch the last part; the land of what?

Leafir chuckled. No, just the Land Of. Leafir smiled at Ted’s confusion.

Well, the fairy said waving his arms expressively, it couldn’t be the land of anything specific, right? You know, there are all sorts of crazy things running around. It’s the land of so many different things. It’s hard to say. We couldn’t call it the land of Unidentical Entities. That was Phinley’s idea. Wosy settled the matter. He told us to call it the Land Of till we find out exactly what it is the Land Of.

"Who’s we?"

Leafir closed his eyes to concentrate. Well, let’s see. There’s Wosy, Phinley, Hant, Nicanor, Baldric… ’em… there’s me… And there’s you, now. Then there’s Tinker and Tramp, Bustle, Flurdibug… Leafir went on and on, counting them on his fingers, as if Ted could put a face to every one of these names. Ted didn’t know if these dwellers had faces; Baldric certainly didn’t.

Okay, so there’re a few dwellers here. That’s what you call them, right? Ted said, trying to simplify the matter.

Right.

Could any of them help me, ’cause I need to know how I got here?

Leafir’s jaw dropped. How… how you got here? He tilted his head and stared vacantly at Ted. What an odd question. I’ve never thought about that before.

Ted wasn’t paying attention. He had turned to point in the direction he’d come from. You see, I was sitting on a park bench, running away from the Milton’s. I sat down, I blinked, and the next thing I knew, I was here…

Leafir, for all his wonder, still kept his uncontrollable humor. There you go sounding like Baldric again. He laughed.

Listen, I don’t know what’s going on. I just want to get back to Nebraska, because this obviously isn’t Nebraska. I haven’t seen a single corn field. I need to find my way back to where I was before all this happened.

The expression on Leafir’s face was a bit enigmatic. It looked like he had just remembered a good joke and was at the same time standing before the mystery of mysteries. Two things, he said as he tried concealing his smile, I couldn’t help putting myself in Baldric’s roots. Leafir then did a very precise impersonation of Baldric. If you’re lost, how do you know that you’re not in Nebraska? Then Leafir turned serious. And did you just say that you want to go back to where you were… before?

Ted noticed an almost religious admiration twinkling in Leafir’s eyes and nodded.

The fairy did a somersault in the air. "You remember your before! You’re only the second dweller I’ve ever met who remembers his before. Most dwellers think the before is just a myth. Come on, he said yanking Ted’s arm, you need to come with me to the Canopy. Wosy will want to hear this, all the other dwellers too."

Ted allowed himself be dragged to the Canopy. This was still all majorly weird, and Ted was hoping some of the guys over at this Canopy would be a bit more normal. Everything was weird about this… this Land Of. He figured it had to be a dream. Maybe he had passed out; maybe a car had swerved off the road and hit him. As Leafir lead him out of the forest onto the crest of a hill, Ted was enumerating all the possible explanations: dreaming, insanity, frozen in a coma, dead… Everything was bizarrely inexplicable.

Before them, the plains rolled softly into the horizon where an extremely large sun, like a big red balloon, was making its steady way toward the tree line. A swarm of flittering blue lights played in a tree just below them at the foot of the hill.

Ted’s hand went to his stomach. Apparently, the mushmellow was still bothering him. The strange thing was that Leafir was looking at the lights too.

You see Tinker? Leafir pointed at the lights in the valley. He’s one of the strangest things we’ve ever seen. He doesn’t talk, but he thinks more than the rest of us. Hant says he doesn’t talk because he thinks too much. And Phinley says that Hant doesn’t think because he talks too much. Leafir laughed. His ecstatic chuckle sounded like laughter loaded into a Gatling gun.

Any food around here? Ted asked, with the mushmellows in mind. Like, what do you dwellers eat?

Almost anything you want. Leafir scooped up a handful of long grass. Try this.

He took it and chewed the tips. It had an apple flavor. What do you call it?

Leafir raised his little blond eyebrows. Grass. You don’t have that where you come from?

Ted nibbled off a piece and swallowed. It didn’t have the stringy fiber taste grass had in Nebraska. The blades of grass eventually dissolved in his mouth. We’ve got grass. We just don’t eat it. And what about the little white mushroomy things growing out of trees? Are those safe to eat?

Leafir wasn’t listening. Before them, a herd of animals went sweeping across the valley beneath them. Stroamers; Leafir explained. For some reason, Wosy says they’re not dwellers because all they do is eat all day, sleep all night, and… Leafir stood on his tip toes to whisper in Ted’s ear. And they never play! he remarked, sounding extremely scandalized by the fact.

Ted never got a close look at the Stroamers. When they reached the plain below, all the Stroamers had disappeared into the forest. As they marched through the grassy fields, Leafir explained, in his childish way, all there was to explain about this strange land of oddities. From what Ted could gather, dwellers popped up sporadically with no memories worth mentioning, which is why their before was such an impenetrable mystery. No one remembered it. And not all were inclined to believe it; most reasonable dwellers said it was nothing but myth. Even Wosy—clearly the main dweller authority—seemed to doubt all dwellers had a before.

In general, though, Leafir offered more questions than answers. He was extremely intrigued by Ted’s before. So Ted made it as interesting as possible. He told Leafir all about football, TV, video games, cars, airplanes, and stuff like that.

They had been traveling for a couple of hours already. The setting sun had painted everything a mellow orange. Leafir stopped and pointed out the dark silhouette of a tall tree that stood against the sunset. Its branches spread out at the top like an umbrella. There it is. That’s the Canopy.

Ted noticed a crowd had gathered. Who are they?

Leafir squinted. Everyone! Leafir’s voice sounded a little troubled. They’ve all gathered. I wonder? Leafir quickened his pace; walking wouldn’t do. He floated into the air and glided along, tugging Ted. Ted had to first jog and then run or else be left behind.

img01.jpg    Chapter 2: The Mysterious Mission

Leafir hauled Ted up the sloping hill where they were met by a large ogrely looking dweller and a short, well-rounded dwarf with spectacles. The dwarf was smoking a pipe.

What brings you here in such a hurry? said the dwarf to Leafir, inquisitively looking over the rim of his glasses.

Phinley, can’t you tell a new dweller when you see one? retorted the ogre gruffly.

Hant, replied the dwarf as he drew figures in the air with the tip of his pipe, of course I observed that Leafir has brought us a new dweller. I just found it slightly unreasonable that Leafir brought the poor thing sprinting.

I saw everyone under the Canopy… Leafir confessed.

Is it the first time? Phinley mumbled as he adjusted the thick-rimmed glasses and poked Ted’s stomach with the tip of his pipe. Scrawny dweller, this one, the dwarf mused.

Oh, hang it, complained the ogre. You know as well as the rest of us that any small thing gets Leafir jumpy.

I won’t just hang it! Phinley stubbornly retorted, all three of his chins shaking vigorously. The dwarf then engaged Hant in the most inconsequential argument Ted had ever witnessed. Leafir watched the two as they debated, eyes flashing from side to side.

Ted wasn’t comfortable at all. The crowd of dwellers Leafir had seen under the Canopy began drifting toward Ted. Everyone in the unusual crowd ogled him like he was a strange piece of modern art. He couldn’t see what was so fascinating. He was just an ordinary boy of fourteen years in a pair of faded jeans, wearing a football jersey. Compared with the other dwellers, he had to be a pretty boring sight.

There was this ogre, Hant, for example. He was mostly fat, but muscular fat that stretched tight his wart-covered brown skin. Two glassy billiard-ball eyes bulged out of the top of his head. His thick, stubby fingers, webbed like a duck’s foot, fidgeted impatiently.

Phinley, the dwarfish scholar, wasn’t any less awkward. The dwarf was a big sophisticated ball of refined rotundity. His limbs were round flabby globs of flesh stuck together like wads of clay. His face was old, venerable, but not very beautiful. His rusty white beard rolled over his rounded chest.

And apart from these two prominent dwellers, there were others. Strange creatures gathered under the Canopy Tree: a unicorn; a small boy; and a tall, tall… very tall, thin person, so tall he could have reached up with one hand to pluck leaves from the tree’s branches.

There were at least twenty more dwellers standing together in the background—dwellers with sixteen hands, dwellers with wings, dwellers with flames for hair, dwellers whose bodies resembled solid rays of light; there were so many bizarre, weird things on two feet. If it was all a dream, it was worse than normal. The singular crowd made an overwhelming blur that filled the background, too astounding to be taken into focus. Holding center stage was the argument of the dwarf and the ogre. Ted hadn’t heard a word they said.

Can I talk now? Leafir finally butted in.

Hant ignored Leafir completely. What we need to do now is sort things out. First things first, Leafir, where d’you find him?

He was wandering around my forest. He looked lost. When I… Leafir was cut off.

Very well then, Phinley stated, rubbing his chubby hands together, we’ll have to give him a name.

Leafir raised his hand timidly. But he’s…

Phinley waved his pipe condescendingly. No, no… no extra stress. We’ll take the burden on our experienced shoulders. Besides, it’s a hard thing, deciding on a good name on the first day. It’s the sort of thing that demands experience.

Ted didn’t know