Finding Faeryland

By D.L. Olson

For a ten year old Widge Pennemar sure has accomplished a lot. From ghost-busting abandoned houses to digging up the local swimming hole in search of Long John Silver's treasure, (it's too bad they got ahold of the wrong map). From conquering Huckleberry Hill, the empty lot at the corner of 2nd and Platt Street to navigating his imagination in the Pennemar-1 space capsule, Widge considers himself an accomplished adventurer.
This summer Widge aims to add 'Faery Hunter' to his list of accomplishments. And what better opportunity than a vacation in Dragon Valley - whose reputation has seen better days.
Widge, Tawno, and their sister, Mirela, set out to discover Faeryland despite perilous warnings and otherworldly magic. But the tables turn when they find themselves in a losing battle to save the naysayers, Brinius and Poto, from the magic of a faery circle.
And they've taken Tawno with them!
Do humans stand a chance in the faery world?
Is Faeryland the haven it's cracked up to be, or are there problems in Faeryland's future?
Will Widge and Mirela ever lay eyes on their brother again?
Discover an otherworldly adventure ,,, in FINDING FAERYLAND

• Language: English
• Publisher: D.L. Olson
• Release date: Mar 16, 2022
• ISBN: 9781005109271

D.L. Olson

D.L. Olson lives in Post Falls, Idaho with his son, Dylan, and their two cats, Tangie and Mew.

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Finding Faeryland

Copyright © 2022 by Donald L. Olson

All rights reserved.

No portion of this book may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form whatsoever or by any means, or stored in a database or retrieval system without written permission of the rights holder, except with brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses by U.S. copyright law.

Inside art by Priya

Contact the Author @ [e-mail]

I am grateful to Cynthia Kay Olson for helping me shape my wild fantasies into Finding Faeryland through her fearless opinions. And when the other machine conked out, Cynthia saved the day, giving Finding Faeryland the opportunity to come to life. I also wish to acknowledge my son, Dylan, whose antics and attitudes as a growing child easily transferred to characters on the page. Life is a work in progress, my dear boy. Greet each day with great zeal and wonder—and never stop believing. I love you both.

Contents

Part One - Dragon Valley

1.Dragon Valley

2.Setting Up Camp

3.Beelzebub and the Pancake Flipper

4.The Quest Begins

5.A Poltergeist's Dirty Shoe

6.Toooscundally Wood

7.Widge and the Handcuffing Bush

8.The Truth About Faery Dust

9.The Curse Of The Faeries

10.Brinius and the Faery Circle

11.Tea Party in the Woods

12.The Faery's Revenge

Part Two - The Great Injustice

13.Poto

14.Warrior Lord and the Trail Guardsmen

15.Home Sweet Tree House

16.Eventide Reveille

17.Lapis Lazulii

18.Worms, Blood, and Spit

19.Sorkas

20.Bat Tails, Rat Tails, and Scorpions

21.Deacon Blues & Blue Note

22.Pladoera

23.Quiinto's Unexpected Opportunity

24.The Bulging-Eyed Heap

25.Trouble Coming Everyday

26.The Tale of the Great Injustice

27.The Seeing Pendant

28.Tawno's Ultimatum

Part Three - Heart of the Dragon

29.Do We Have A Deal?

30.The Whispering Forest

31.The Riddle of the Whispering Forest

32.Crowski

33.A Chorus of Chaos

34.Lord's of Night

35.Massacre at the Wild Berry Bistro

36.The Old Man In The Tree

37.Gaia

38.Quiinto's Secret

39.Spider Silk

40.The Heart of the Dragon

41.A Cyclonic Vortex

42.A Mizzle of Faery Dust

Pat Four - the Singing Shaman

43.The Riddle of the Wood

44.Palace of Steeples

45.The Singing Shaman

46.Mirela in Faeryland

47.Music on Trial

48.Reckoning at the Bulging-Eyed Heap

49.The Faeries Strike Again

50.The Verdict Is In! The Verdict Is In!

51.The Return Of What Was Lost

52.The Regurgitating Faery Circle

53.Epilogue

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Chapter one

Dragon Valley

That’s when the dragons arrived, I explained. They came in hordes, flying from eastern regions and settling in these mountains.

"Ho-o-ordes of ’em!" It just wasn't in Tawno, my dad’s number one son, to let dragon history go without some mealy-mouthed snark.

Not letting him rile me up, I patiently continued. A horde is what you call a gathering of dragons. Sheep roam in flocks, wolves run in packs and dragons fly in hordes. Gazing up the steep incline of mountainside forest, I whispered, I bet there’s faeries all over these woods. And dragon bones, too. The dragons may be gone, but you know their bones are scattered all over these mountains.

Where do you get this stuff? Tawno scoffed.

I've been trying to tell you. Long before there was you or me, it was dragons and faeries. They ruled over these mountains with their magic for hundreds of years. It’s how Dragon Valley got its name.

"Yeah, and they flew in ho-o-ordes," Tawno said, reviving his warbly-voiced sarcasm.

I could only shake my head with a sigh—welcome to my world. I guess I should introduce myself. The name is Bridgerton. Bridgerton Thadeous Keswick (the w is silent, thank you very much) Pennemar. Widge, for short.

Yeah—don’t ask.

I haven’t a clue why four names wasn’t enough that they had to add a fifth. Or how they got Widge out of that mess of vowels and consonants. But Widge is what I grew up with, so Widge it is.

Think about it, I said. "How could something as big as a dragon live for so long and then—POOF!" I exclaimed, while my fingers mimicked the exploding mind. Gone the same way of the dinosaurs—without a trace. No, I said dreamily. They left something behind. I said. I wonder what dragon bones are going for these days?

It probably depends on what kind of bones you’ve got, Tawno replied. Or… if it’s even legal for you to have dragon bones. My brother gave me hard, cocky look. You didn’t think about that, did you?

Why would it be illegal to have dragon bones? I asked, shaking my head.

To protect wildlife and stuff… like they did with the eagles. You can get thrown in the clinker for having so much as an eagle’s feather—you didn’t know that, did you? If they did it with eagles, I promise they can do it with dragons. Faeries, too. You know, for preservation and stuff.

Tha-a-a-t’s pretty far fetched, Mirela said. Mirela is the number two child and my dad’s number one daughter, stuck between Tawno and me in the backseat of Old Betsy. That’s the name my dad hung on the ugliest car in the neighborhood. Poor thing. She wanted to be Jetson-sleek—but a station wagon with a muffled roar could never measure up to the muscle parked next door in the Miller’s driveway. But we keep that stuff to ourselves. Dad would see it as disrespectful and he doesn’t go for disrespect. Half the world doesn’t believe in dragons and faeries, Mirela continued. So why would they make laws protecting them?

Makes sense, I nodded in agreement.

Keep in mind, she continued, a dragon bone is a hundred times bigger than eagle bones. They won’t fit in your pocket, that’s for sure. And then shifting to a more serious tone, Mirela wondered, Do you think something is going on in that place?

What place? I asked.

Dragon Valley. I was telling Penny Nichols about spending our summer vacation in Dragon Valley.

She went there last year, didn’t she? Tawno asked.

Mirela tucked a lock of her long blonde hair behind her ear and continued. If you remember, they were late getting back. She missed the first couple weeks of school, ya know.

Tawno’s head bobbed agreeably. I remember.

"When I mentioned ‘Dragon Valley’ her mouth just dropped. A sour look twisted Mirela’s face. She stared at me like I’d grown two heads or something."

Did she say anything? I asked.

A somber spirit rested on Mirela’s face as she seemed to relive the moment. Finally, in a small and distant voice, she said, No. She just stared at me with the most horrific look on her face and then she couldn’t get outta there fast enough. She stormed off, bumping into people … Mirela shook off the memory, … it was weird.

"Well, I’m all for a good faery hunt… once we get there, Tawno emphasized. But searching for ’em from a moving car is a waste of time, Widge. They’re so tiny we ain’t never gonna see ’em. Besides, I don’t know what to look for. And then out of nowhere his tone rose from a whine to flat-out belligerence. And neither do you!"

Sheesh! I shook my head the way Mom does when she’s disappointed beyond words. It was part of the plan, wasn’t it?

It’d be easier if we were searching for dragons, big as they are. Tawno paused. But we ain’t gonna see no faeries… not from a moving car. Besides, what happens if we see something? Dad ain’t stopping. Not out in the middle of nowhere… would you, Dad?

Not a snowball’s chance in …

Mom cleared her throat, cutting Dad off at the punchline.

I snapped the hair out of my eyes and returned to the search on my side of the road. I never win these arguments, so I’ve learned to accept things for what they are. And right now they are out of tune with my Dad trying to sing with the cowboys on the radio. They leave him in the dust, every time. Even so, his assault on country music stretched out another ten miles, when Tawno started getting squeamish. It doesn’t happen that much any more, but he starts urping up these little burps. They say it’s how he handles pressure and today I can relate. After all, we hit the road early and still have a long way to go before we get to Dragon Valley. That’s when Tawno grabbed his belly like he was holding everything in place. He snatched the baseball cap off his head and ran his hand over his buzzcut. He threw his head back, drew a deep breath, and dropped his head between his legs with a belch so loud it drowned out the cowboy on the radio and caused mom to slam her knitting hands onto her lap.

Tawno! she gasped.

"That’s dis-gusting," Mirela declared, with a heavy lean on ‘gusting.’

Tawno slunk back in his seat with a sheepish grin.

Sorry, he said.

To be honest, it sounded more like a question than an apology.

Already back to counting stitches on her knitting needle, Mom dismissively shook her head. Free-floating, she said. Doctor calls it free-floating anxiety. Then she threw a snarl across the front seat, at my Dad. And I’m not the least bit surprised, the way Widge has him all worked up.

I didn’t do nothing, I declared. He’s bailing on the search is what he’s doing.

The words hadn’t left my tongue when my dad snuffed the cowboy on the radio and turned the rear-view mirror on me.

Well, it’s true, I pleaded, sounding quite small.

Any more disrespect for your mother and I’ll stop this car right here. I dropped my gaze to my lap. Do I make myself clear? he bellowed.

Yes, sir, I murmured before lobbing a sneer to my brothers side of the car.

Normally, Tawno takes the lead on our adventures. Any trouble we get into is usually my fault. Tawno says I like having fun, and what’s wrong with that? Most kids like to have fun, don’t they? Well, in this family, fun comes at a price—unless you’re my sister. Mirela the Magnificent has fun whenever she wants. That’s how it goes when you’re Dad’s favorite. I swear, he’s given her as many nicknames as there are days in the week. Pumpkin—Sweetheart—Little Girl (spoken with a great deal of affection). Number One Daughter (his only daughter). And of course, there’s Princess. The great balancer is getting Mirela to do the things we like doing, but that’s easier said than done. Still, I have to admit she’s pretty cool, for a sister. She plays piano better than anyone—including Mrs. Satterwhite, the organ-grinder from church. I heard somewhere that Mrs. Satterwhite is a widow now. She was my first grade teacher and one of my mom’s teachers too, from way back.

Who told you about this place? Mirela wondered.

Tom and Billy, I replied.

D’ya mean Billy the Bozo Shelanski? Tawno’s sing-song sarcasm waltzed off his tongue with a bit too much delight.

Billy ain’t no Bozo, I defended.

Tawno slapped his thigh with a laugh. He’s the head Bozo. The class clown.

That’s another thing about my brother—he has no qualms piling on. Well, he’s my friend and I say he ain’t.

Did they tell you what to look for? Mirela asked.

An uncomfortable moment passed before I shook my head. They didn’t.

Tawno turned a glare on me so fast I thought his neck would snap. They didn’t?

No. They didn’t! I fumed, leaning across Mirela’s space. Doesn’t mean it ain’t true. Dad’s glare in the rear-view sent me back in my seat. They said we’ll know it when we see it.

I know, it sounded weak. Especially coming from a couple of guys who claim to have witnessed the ultimate in paranormal sightings. All I could do is gaze through the ridicule. It’s hard when everyone is bigger than you. They get to call the shots. Tawno sympathizes… sometimes. He claims he was a runt like me, but I can’t remember when. At fourteen he fills out his frame like a jock. He matched his age in home runs this year—sailing one of them over the Richland Highlands scoreboard. He’s a straight-A student and a whiz at math. Which is good, because I’m not. So I knew Tawno was right. We didn’t know what to look for, but I wasn’t about to give in.

Tommy said they glow—each one in its own colors.

What’d he mean by that? Tawno asked.

I shook my head. He said they were lit up like a Christmas tree when he saw them.

A Christmas tree? Mirela’s tone said she wasn’t buying it.

He said he never saw nothing like it. And d’you know what else Billy said? I captured Mirela’s eyes with mine. He said they’ve got… wings!

Tawno heaved a painful groan and tossed his gaze back out the window. Everyone knows that and I still don’t know what to look for. Just like ghosts aren’t a bunch of Caspers, these ain’t gonna be a bunch of Tooth Faeries and Tinker Bells. You never know, they might even be vicious.

Well, we didn’t know nothing about Caspers, but we hunted ’em plenty, I argued. Tawno’s brows crinkled together in a bunch as he swallowed another smart-alecky smirk. And we never saw no pirates, but that didn’t stop us from hunting their treasure.

How much treasure did you cash in? Tawno fired back.

I shook my head. "Don’t matter. Even you said we were close."

Tawno glanced at the books on our sister’s lap. Looks like Mirela’s boning up for the adventure.

It’s true. On any other day a Nancy Drew mystery would be stuck in her hand. But something about faeries sent her to the library. ‘Half Magic’ danced across the first book-cover in happy blue letters with a sword driving a warning through the ‘H.’

"And I got The Faery Alphabet, Mirela explained. But the one I think can help you guys is this. She drew the last book, the widest one, from the bottom. Faeries of the Flowers and Trees. It has lots of pictures to give you guys an idea what you’re looking for." The rumors had snagged Mirela’s imagination and that’s saying a lot. We wanted her on our pirate hunt, but she refused anything to do with pirates. And ghosts were out of the question, but something about faeries piqued her interest.

Did they say anything else? Mirela asked.

Not about the faeries, I said. But Billy claimed they don’t call this place Dragon Valley anymore.

What did he call it? Tawno wondered.

Get a load of this. I raised my arms like a conductor holding an orchestra’s attention. He called it The Land of Enchantment in the Valley of Death.

C’mon Widge, Tawno pleaded. They call Disneyland the Enchanted Kingdom too. Don’t make it so. It’s just a traveling circus that don’t travel no more. Right, Dad?

Dad concurred with Tawno’s assessment… of course.

What about the Valley of Death part? I wondered.

Tawno paused as the words marinated in his brain. "Did they say that? They called it the Valley of Death?"

I nodded, but after a long moment Tawno shook it off. "We’re going to Dragon Valley, Widge. Death Valley is wa-a-ay south of here. Still, his eyes tossed around the possibilities. If it were true do you have any idea what it would mean?"

I awaited Tawno’s answer.

They wouldn’t call it the Valley of Death over some unfortunate geezer croaking out. I shrugged off his point. Widge, to get a rap like that means lots of people must’ve died.

A snapped the hair out of my eyes. That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you guys.

On that note we drove in silence with the road-hum competing with the country whine on the radio.

Chapter two

Setting Up Camp

Mirela flipped through her books while I ran surveillance on my side of the road. Tawno killed his search. He wasn’t even pretending anymore. Instead, a shoebox stuffed with baseball cards commanded his attention. He says they’re worth their weight in gold, but I don’t see it. Baseball cards are no different from the whistles at the bottom of a Cracker Jack box. And no one ever said those things are gold.

Eventually, the last radio station joined the others in static heaven. When dad killed it, I knew I had to find something to distract me from my weird thoughts. It never occurred to me that rolling my hand over my fist would cause such a ruckus. But when I did, my knuckles popped like a string of firecrackers, sending cold, creepy shivers up Mirela’s spine and spinning mom around in her seat.

Widge Pennemar! Her wagging finger drew my head in an agreeable bounce. How many times have I told you? Keep that up and you’ll ruin your hands in no time!

Geez, Louise! You’d think I’d ripped a nasty one or something. Considering our present situation in sardine city, I’d say they got off easy with fire-crackling knuckles, so to kill time I counted fence posts before switching to counting birds. I didn’t count too many of them due to a lack of flying things, so I switched to cows. And then horses, but there weren’t many horses, either. Bored, antsy and just wanting to be there, I peered over Mom’s shoulder in search of the sign that says, ‘Dragon Valley - Straight Ahead.’

But I don’t know what I was thinking.

We hadn’t passed a signpost for miles or I would have counted them too. But what I saw buggered my eyeballs right out of my head. We were on a collision course with a monster of a mountain shrouded in storm clouds. To the left, a row of mountains stood cloudless and tall. To the right, another mountain gleamed in the afternoon sun. But dark, serious clouds swallowed the mountain in the middle—the one in Betsy’s line of sight.

Now I know how mountain range illusions make roads do funny things, but I couldn’t imagine a way around this. When Betsy rolled under the sooty blanket of clouds, my heart sank, because everyone knows rain is the surest way to mess up any vacation. But Dad didn’t waver as he drove head-on into the squall. A dip in the road gave Betsy a slingshot start up the grade. Like a hook snags a rollercoaster, the mountain hooked Betsy— snagging her into a vertical climb when a voice in my head announced:

T-plus two minutes and eighteen seconds into the launch of Pennemar One… and everything is A-okay. (squelch)

I snatched the microphone from the space capsules instrument panel. That’s a good 10-4 Houston. Everything is A-okay—over. (squelch)

Strapped atop a raging firecracker, we were on our way to the great beyond. With Tawno in the Captain’s seat, me on co-pilot duties and Mirela as our navigator we headed for the stars. Outside my cockpit the universe zipped by in a murky blur. Dad pulled on Betsy’s headlight knob, and I flicked the switch to Pennemar One’s N.L.S.—the Navigational Light System.

The airy space of my boredom sent us hurtling through the universe, dodging meteors and weaving around space junk. When we reached the summit, I keyed the microphone.

Houston, we’ve achieved target elevation—over. (squelch)

That’s a good 10-4, Pennemar One. Proceed with phase two—over. (squelch)

10-4 Houston. Initiating phase two. (squelch)

Radio silence crackled through the speakers.

Phase two is complete—over, I reported. (squelch)

That’s a good 10-4, Pennemar One. (squelch) Proceed according to flight plan—over. (squelch)

Roger that, Houston. (squelch)

The summit greeted us with few traces of daylight as the stormy gloom tightened its grip on the mountain. Dad navigated our way through the dark dreary soup as my mind wandered. Without thinking, I uttered, … the worst vacation ever!

What was that? Dad spoke with a tone that insisted he’d heard me just fine.

Noth… nothing, Dad. Just wondering if Dragon Valley’s gonna be a rain-out.

Dad kept a suspicious eye on me through the rear-view. I held my breath until the danger passed.

Whew! That could have gone bad, I thought.

The mere mention of rain brought a fat drop of it splattering across the windshield. Another one followed, and in no time nature’s spigot was opened wide. Raindrops and hailstones bombarded Betsy in starburst explosions, and it bummed me out. Our vacation looked destined to be a cold, rainy one—impossible conditions to expose the creatures who don’t fear the church bells.

Dad pulled Betsy’s windshield-wiper knob and I depressed the spaceship’s W.E.B.—the Weather Elimination Button. The torrential barrage crackled and popped its assault on Betsy when out of nowhere, a blinding flash forged a jagged path overhead. The white-hot glare illuminated an angry mountain swaying in its rage, with bushes and branches taking full-blown swipes at us. Another bolt chased the first, sucker-punching Betsy with a thunderclap. But Dad held it together—until we dropped into a free-fall.

Um, Pennemar One to Houston. (squelch)

Go ahead Pennemar One. (squelch)

Houston… I think we have a problem. (squelch)

The sudden plunge took my breath away. The next to go was my belly—I left it behind with my breath. And then, rising from the bottom of the windshield, a silvery trail glistened in Betsy’s headlights as a river of runoff chased us down the mountain. A thought occurred to me—we haven’t passed by any civilization in a long time. I can’t remember the last time we shared the road with another car. It made me wonder: if Dragon Valley is a vacation destination, where is everybody?

Lightning stabbed gaping holes in the angry clouds and bled-out in torrents. Dad powered Betsy down to a crawl, which threw us forward in our seats.

Are we there? I called out.

I searched for the answer outside my window, but it was dark and vulnerable to everything. Somehow Tawno’s side looked darker, so I looked over Mom’s shoulder. That’s when I realized Dad had made a wrong turn. It had to be a mistake because the way ahead appeared to wind through a towering tangle of twisted forest guts, slowing us to a museum’s pace. Betsy’s headlamps captured frightened trees. Blustering shrubs bullied us from both sides of the road and listing timber threatened to crush Old Betsy to smithereens.

I had so many questions, but didn’t dare make a sound. That’s when a curve in the road took us into a fog bank where yellow flashes of light peppered the mist. Betsy rolled by a pair of sawhorses with caution lights blinking an amber warning. Between the sawhorses, a large white arrow pointed us away from the mammoth tree laying dead on the road. Dad slowed Betsy to a crawl as we came upon another pair of flashing lights, which turned us deeper into the bowels of the forest. I sucked in a lungful of apprehension as soupy fog swirled in Betsy’s headlights. And then a light up ahead squeezed itself through a hole—pin needle small.

Small as it was, the light exuded a masterful brilliance, spinning a ghost-white cocoon around everything. Before I realized what was going on, everything had dissolved into the snow-white nothingness of everything else. I should have been mortified, but I wasn’t. That’s when a splattering sound spat us out of the forest. In a snap we were driving down a sun-drenched road confined between stone walls on either side of us. I contorted my head, searching the upper regions of the wall, but concluded the answer must be near the ozone.

What was that? I blurted.

Mom answered with calm indifference. What was what, Widge?

Exasperated, I jabbered, How did… what was… what did we just drive through?

A groan rumbled from behind the steering wheel. There he goes.

But Dad… the place… the space… the light. Crazy thoughts raced through my head so fast I couldn’t say anything.

Always stirring things up, aren’t you, Widge?

But Dad … I pleaded.

Quit trying to make something out of nothing.

But Dad …

Sit back and behave yourself young man. Don’t make me stop this car!

What else could I do?

The conditions