Out Of The Waspic

By Sandra L Dodge

Out of the Waspic is a fantasy. The two main characters are Sitkah and Chignon. They are teenage friends. Sitkah is a human boy, and Chignon is a female unicorn. They undertake a perilous adventure into the forbidden region known as the Waspic. Their adventure begins with a harrowing hike through haunted woods. They make many bad decisions as th

• Language: English
• Publisher: Red Cove Publishing
• Release date: Oct 14, 2023
• ISBN: 9798987448106

Sandra L Dodge

Sandra Dodge has been a Jill of all trades, working as a Building Designer, a Naval Architecture Technician, a Librarian, a Human Resource Specialist, a Day Care Director, and a Children's Therapist. Sandy and her friends started and built Good Shepherd School, a Christ-centered school that worked to meet the needs of the whole child: body, mind, and spirit. Out of the Waspic was written as a spiritual allegory.

Book preview

Chapter 1 The Picnic

(or how we got into this mess)

It was perfect. The sun was sending her best friendly smile upon them. It was still warm. The wine, too, was warm and red and strong. There was the usual fare: cheese, mana plant on the open fire, bread from the ovens at the Maratna, and the potatoes hiding in the coals. The seasons were changing. As they were finishing their meal, Sitkah (SIT-kah) lay on the quilt and gazed up at the blue, blue of the sky, looking thru the painted leaves but not really seeing them. He was appreciating the peace of the moment, and the companionship of Chignon (SHIG-non), who lay nearby with her dark nose resting on her slender forelegs.

I couldn’t live without you, he sighed.

She lifted her shapely head and gazed at him; a slight smile playing around her mouth.

Ah, she answered putting her head back down, but you would have to.

No! he said up and looking down at her, I couldn’t. I’d dry up and blow away. Really! What would I do without you? I would have no one to talk to, no one to tell my troubles to, no one to walk with. You are very precious to me. He reached out and gently stroked her neck.

Chignon looked up at him from under her long dark lashes. The pink skin of her muzzle melted into the chocolate color at the tip of her nose. Her creamy neck and flanks seemed to flow into the silvery radiance of her mane and tail. Her pink ears were rimmed with a light edge of rosy brown and her fetlocks were tinted with the same rosy hue. Her dark hooves were small and very sharp. Her horn was of the purest white. Today was special because it was her birthday. Unicorns seldom tell you their age, but they always celebrate their birthdays. Tonight there would be a grand party at the Maratna; but for now the friends could be away, watching the end of summer fade into the treetops.

In the fields below them, the fingers of the breeze rumpled the grains into little golden billows. Far across the valley, the white walls and flat roofs of the Maratna reflected the sunshine back at them like mirrors. Nearby birds twittered and tiny woodland creatures scampered over soft green moss and damp logs. An escaping dark whisper of wind played over Sitkah’s ears.

Suddenly, his mood changed and he exclaimed, I’ve got a terrific idea! Let’s explore the Waspic!

What? Chignon recoiled. Oh, Sitkah, I don’t think we should. They say it’s very dangerous.

What’s so dangerous about it? You know all the elders tell you that everything is dangerous that they did when they were juniors. Why, I’ve heard some of the craziest stories from Morlon about things I shouldn’t do – like putting zips in the fish pond. Now, really, Lovey, what’s wrong with that?

Chignon’s musical laugh danced sweetly over the grass, Well, I suppose if the fish ate too many zips they might explode. She grinned at him.

He grinned back at her. Grondi serves them on Eaglemass Anyway, he added, You know they have a lot of rules that don’t make sense, like not wearing shoes on the balustrade. I mean, come on! You don’t even wear shoes. And I heard there was a rule, before our time, against human juniors going on picnics. Whatever was that rule for?

Chignon raised her head and looked at him steadily. I’ve read about that in the tablets, she said. They established that rule because the beast was roaring around, devouring wayfarers and picnickers, especially juniors who did not have the wisdom to use the Sword against him. Sometimes, Sweetie, they know what they are doing.

What do you think he looked like? mused Sitkah.

Who? asked Chignon.

The beast, he answered.

They say he is like a roaring lion, but I don’t think he’s a real lion.

Sitkah thought for a minute. Getting back to our discussion, he said, What’s so dangerous about the Waspic?

I have no way of knowing, answered Chignon, and I am not altogether sure that I want to know.

What is an adventure without unknown? If we knew everything about everything there would be no adventures. Come on, Lovey, let’s go exploring. Maybe we’ll discover something important. Maybe we’ll be able to tell the other juniors why the elders say it’s dangerous or maybe, he paused and gave her a sidelong glance, we’ll find out it’s like throwing zips to the fish!

I don’t know.

It’s only a little way. We’ve already walked so far. We could be back by supper time

I really don’t know, Sitkah.

Oh, come on, Lovey!

Well, maybe just a little way.

Great! He was on his feet. He put their picnic things into their sack, leaving out some cheese to munch on, and they set out.

Sitkah was a human teenager, a much-respected junior. His achievements were almost as great as Grondi’s had been at his age. His natural abilities and his great capacity to learn had earned him the honor of the Trophy of the Wings, given once a generation to an outstanding junior at the Maratna. He was an excellent shot and an excellent swimmer. He was courteous, a good citizen who loved all the folk who lived and worked at the Maratna. In spite of all his accomplishments, however, he was still a junior.

Chignon was part of the royal family, the Elect. She was one of the joyful ones, a singer, and a praiser of days. She was soft and gentle and always there. She listened to what the elders taught and analyzed their words, cataloguing everything according to its place in the truth of the Sword. She was the child of a king who was the child of a king; and she knew that in some miraculous way they were all children of the Eagle.

They set out across the footpath to a place where the ground sloped down and off to the left. They glided through the trees, out across a clearing, and back into thinning trees. After ten minutes, they came to a ridge of rugged stone. Approaching the ridge, they looked below them. Half a mile away was a blue-gray smokiness, cloud-like, covering an area many miles square. This was the Waspic.

There it is! exclaimed Sitkah, Mysterious and alluring. How exciting!

I think it’s rather frightening, answered Chignon.

What? Come on, Lovey, don’t fret like that. It’s your birthday. I want you to be happy…. celebratory. Then he answered seriously, I’ll protect you. You know I’d never let anything happen to you,

Alright, she brightened, You’re right, let’s go. Eron will go with us.

They descended the narrow pile of stone that served roughly as a stairway. A rush of warm air fell upon them and a shadow passed over them. Looking up, they saw a great white eagle gliding high overhead. They watched until he was too high for their eyes to reach.

They finished their descent along the stony stairway, and crossed the plain that separated them from the Waspic. It looked like any ordinary wood. The trees were clothed in red and golden leaves, but the sunlight that had wrapped around them up on the ridge did not penetrate the smoky blue haze that covered this place.

They entered the wood, slowly stepping over bits of rock and rubble that were strewn about on the grassy floor of the forest. The rubble appeared to be bits of swords, pieces of arrows, rotting wooden shields, and rusty metal buckles. Here and there, they tripped over a helmet or a gauntlet.

Maybe this isn’t such a good idea, Chignon spoke into the blue haze.

But look at all this great stuff, Chignon, answered Sitkah.

Chignon barely heard him.

As they walked on into the maze of tall straight tree trunks, the clearing slipped further and further behind. The debris around their feet thinned out. Fewer and fewer objects lay around them. It was very quiet. There did not seem to be any other living creatures: just Sitkah and Chignon with the green carpet floor and the blue haze, luring them deeper in. The tree trunks seemed to have a hypnotic affect on them, almost calling them forward: come this way, come this way. What had been clear and simple thoughts now became confused.

Sitkah had planned to mark their route. Entering the wood, he used his knife to notch a tree. A few feet later, he had notched another, but as they moved deeper into the wood, he began to wonder what his knife was doing in his hand. Why was he hurting these trees? Something about a clearing nudged his clouded thinking. What was it? He stopped and looked back in the direction from which they had come. Why? There was nothing there: it was dark and forebodingly misty. He certainly wouldn’t want to go there.

Sitkah, Chignon’s voice came from a far distance. He turned to look at her. She seemed miles away, yet he could feel her muzzle on his shoulder.

Something’s wrong, she was saying, we have to get out of here. Sitkah. SITKAH!

He could sense the panic in her voice, but the confusion in his brain rendered him speechless.

This way, she said. She turned to retrace their steps. He just stood there. Come on! she said, pulling on his shirt with her teeth. As she turned, she saw a sight that made her stop abruptly.

The wall of dense fog that had been gathering since they entered the Waspic was approaching. Its dark mass was taking on eerie shapes, forms of soldiers long since perished, gray men with gray helmets, gray shields, gray quivers full of gray arrows: misty figures with expressionless faces and empty eyes: floating toward them the way fog rolls in over the edge of a riverbank.

The blue haze of thoughtlessness that had invaded Sitkah’s mind was doing its work in Chignon also. She was becoming less able to reason, less able to move. She could feel her legs stiffen in position. Yet she wanted desperately to move. Sitkah was placid, easily accepting of whatever happened next, but Chignon could feel the fear growing inside her, like a mushroom cloud fighting to escape. Her fear was greater than her confusion. It broke through the haze and gave her two precise thoughts: one: fear is not from the Eagle, and two: ask Him for help.

Eron, help us, she whispered.

Immediately an avenue of light opened up ahead of them across the forest floor.

Sitkah, she nudge him, You have to get on my back. He complied. At that point he would have done anything she asked.

She moved stiffly, heading toward the light. Its appearance had stopped the shadows from approaching any closer. She lowered her head and concentrated all her remaining energy on putting one hoof in front of the other. As she walked into the light, the fear lifted like a weight removed from her neck. She walked on, letting the light lead her. Slowly, slowly, she began to regain her strength. The light led her on through the forest. She wanted to get as far away from the fog and the shadows as she could. She placed her hooves in the light: step after step after step until she felt like she couldn’t move another inch. At the top of a knoll, she stopped, whispered her thanks to Eron and told Sitkah he could get down. As the light disappeared, they lay down, exhausted, on the ground and wished they had never come.

Chapter 2 - Dun

The knoll they slept upon overlooked a dull, pale village. There were a few dwellings clustered together around an ornate, ancient well. The well was as out of place in the midst of the unpainted buildings as a cameo on the lapel of a flannel shirt. There were more structures out a slight distance from the center of the town: sheds, leantos, small barns, strange bins, pens for whatever strange creatures the residents might keep. There were no formal roads, merely pathways of dusty blue ground worn to a flat and hardened surface. There were very few areas of congested living in the Waspic. This was a town of capricorns. Limply growing yellow grass covered small grazing areas at the outlying areas of the village. The grass was sometimes harvested and stored, but more often the village