World o'Tales: The Storyteller's Quest, #4

By Alan McCluskey

Imagine being thrust into a world where every story you tell shapes reality, where a single thought can alter the fabric of existence. For the Storyteller, finding himself in the World o'Tales means the powerful imagination that makes his tales extraordinary now risks sending the world spiralling into catastrophe. As he struggles to adjust, fellow members of the Dream Class face their own challenges. Among them, a pair of relentless immortals wreak havoc, abducting girls and leaving chaos in their wake. Step into the shoes of these vivid characters and experience a world where the power of storytelling becomes a double-edged sword, and every tale has the potential to change everything.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Alan McCluskey
• Release date: Jul 4, 2024
• ISBN: 9782940553655

Alan McCluskey

Alan McCluskey lives amid the vineyards in a small Swiss village between three lakes and a range of mountains. Nearby, several thousands of years earlier, lakeside villages housed a thriving Celtic community. The ever-present heart-beat of that world continues to fuel his long-standing fascination for magic and fantasy. All Alan McCluskey's books are about the self-empowerment of the young, girls in particular, in a world that tends to curtail their opportunities, belittle their abilities and discourage them from doing great things. His books also explore the difficulties of those whose gender and sexuality lie beyond the dominant binary divide between boy and girl. His goal in writing fiction is to imagine inspiring ways forward, despite the difficulties thrown in the way of these young people.

Book preview

Books by the author

The Storyteller’s Quest

The Reaches - Book One

The Keeper’s Daughter - Book Two

The Starless Square - Book Three

The World o'Tales - Book Four

Forget Me Not - Book Five

Boy & Girl Saga

Boy & Girl - Book One

In Search of Lost Girls - Book Two

We Girls - Book Three

Colourful People - Book Four

Stories People Tell

Local Voices

The Truth Mongers (coming soon)

The Cloud Catcher

Chimera

Bursting with Life

The Boy in the Book

The In-Between

Prologue

The wheelchair came to a halt in the middle of the room with a resounding squeak. It was the antiquated model he’d brought from the Reaches. All was quiet except for the incessant buzz of angry flies above the rotting remains of food upturned on the floor and the sound of his laboured breathing. Still at last, Tom looked up from the task of negotiating a path through the clothes scattered across the floor and the haphazard piles of books and papers. Before him across their oak table, smashed now in two, were the remains of Jenny’s fresco. He remembered the brightly coloured painting well: a magnificent picture of a wild and rich jungle full of promise. Now it was gouged with savage cuts crisscrossing its surface in large jagged gashes through which white plaster appeared like bared bones.

Tom rubbed his back that hurt after his long journey home. Home? Were these ruins of their one-time apartment really his home? He’d lost everything: he could no longer walk, Jenny, the love of his life, had left him and the place they’d built together was in ruins, not to mention he had no work and no source of income. So much for their dreams of a better world! His vision blurred as tears welled up. The numbing filth and disorder of the place added to a profound ache of loss and despair that threatened to overwhelm him. If he gave in, he might never come back. With a great effort, he wheeled his chair round, turning his back on the ruins and headed for the door. A wise decision, a resounding voice rang in his head startling him to a halt.

Chapter 1. Fireworld

Déjà vu

Black. Pitch black. No body. No world. Nothing. Not even the slightest feeling. Just thoughts.

I’ve been here before! Brent said out loud, partly to voice his surprise, but above all to be sure he still had a voice.

That’s reassuring! Sally’s voice rang clear in the dark.

He could hear the smile in her words and sense her green eyes flashing

You’d be surprised who might be in here, he replied. Last time he’d been trapped in the dark, he’d found himself sitting on the back of a chair opposite an owl only to discover he’d become an owl himself.

Being stuck in the dark didn’t seem to make any more sense than it had then. He could have sworn Sally shuddered, though how could he feel such a thing without a body? He shuddered himself, if only mentally.

Mere seconds before they’d stood on the sunlit steps of Avan cathedral leading the procession out of the west door after a ceremony in memory of the late Professor Rafter, a very good friend and Sally’s newly-found father. The ceremony had been profoundly moving. What's more, it had marked the end of a weekend of intense adventures.

What did you do last time? Sally whispered.

It was ridiculous to whisper, but his reply came out as a whisper too. Figure out how to turn on the light…

She burst out laughing, not the relaxed laughter he’d come to expect, but more hysterical, as if verging on panic. Well? she continued, once her laughter subsided.

That wasn’t the same, he protested. Or was it?

What’s that smell? Sally asked, startled out of her whisper.

He hadn’t noticed he could smell anything. He sniffed, mentally, and sure enough there was something in the air. Burning, I think. 

Burnt wood, she clarified.

How odd to be able to smell something in a world that didn’t exist. How odd that they should both imagine smelling the same thing. Maybe it’s our imagination.

But I didn’t think of burning.

Neither did I.

The world around him reflecting his thoughts wouldn’t have been so far fetched. He had the ability to tell stories that carried listeners off into the world he described. He’d used storytelling to get out of several difficult situations in that other world they called the Reaches.

I don’t think it’s recent.

For a moment he wondered what she was talking about. Then he realised. The fire.

A sharp popping sound, like a cork bursting from the neck of a bottle, was immediately followed by a prolonged throaty roar, as flames exploded upwards right in front of him till they towered above, vivid red and orange and yellow. And with them the tangible world came rushing back. His eyes smarted as his hands flew to shield them from the intense light. The stench of singed hair filled his nostrils as the heat scorched his face and arms, forcing him back. His ears screamed as the wild roar of the fire deafened him. And there, in the lurid light, he spotted the silhouette of Sally, hunched up across the fire from him.

Stop that! she screamed.

He wanted to protest. He’d done nothing. But could he be so sure? It’d be worrying indeed if he’d lost control and began creating at random. I wasn’t aware I’d done anything. Maybe it just happened.

She groaned.

He glanced about, trying to pierce the gloom. Making the most of the dwindling light, he shuffled round the remains of the fire to Sally’s side. The ground made a strange crunching sound beneath his feet, a bit like cinders. When he reached her, she sagged into his arms, laying her head against his chest.

The last embers of the fire flickered out leaving them alone in the dark once more, but at least this time they had each other. He could feel her warm breath on his shoulder and her breasts pushed against him through the flimsiness of her dress, sparking quite a different fire. He pressed his lips against the top of her head, pulling her closer, and let his hands slide down the small of her back. She moaned softly, returning his caresses.

She turned her head upwards and their lips joined in a passionate kiss. Then suddenly several jets of fire shot upwards, exposing them in a vivid red light. Sally screamed and Brent gasped, both pulling away from each other, shielding their eyes against the sudden glare and the accompanying wave of heat.

Brent forced himself to look around. From the little he could see, half blinded as he was by the light, they were standing on a rough, ash-covered, uneven ground devoid of any outstanding feature. The crunching sound he’d heard must have been his feet on the dark grey cinders scattered all around.

What is it? Sally asked, her hands still clenched over her eyes.

Her dress had caught up around her waist, several buttons hanging undone. Smudges of grey ash on her arms and legs made her look like an escapee from a mine disaster.

Dunno! he replied. A bit like hot water spouts, but with fire instead. As far as he could judge, there was no way of knowing where the next firespout might erupt. We need to get out of here. Fast! He grabbed her hand and pulled her away from the dying flames. But where should they go? Any direction could be wrong. Can you transform this place? Brent asked. Sally had the ability to call up the former state of a place. Maybe she could shift this one back in time till before the fires began.

It could be dangerous with us in its midst, she warned.

Try all the same. As he spoke, a new set of flames burst up only a few feet away.

The ground under their feet started trembling and darkness fell once again. Then a violent tremor sent them flying, wrenching them apart.

Sally! he called out, stretching out his hands in a desperate attempt to reach her. They had to stay together if her transformations were not to bury him alive.

Sally!! he called out again. A further tremor threw him to the ground. An excruciating pain shot through his head. He must have hit it against a rock. His hand flew to the wound only to find blood oozing over his forehead and down into his eyes. He wiped it away as best he could.

Sally!!! he screamed, spitting ash from his mouth. Over the deep groans of the earth, he could hear other groans, human those, fainter, more distant. He pushed himself onto his hands and knees with great effort and crawled towards the sound. He was forced to stop often, as both the darkness and the constant trembling troubled his sense of direction.

Sally! he called out again. There had been no new flames for quite a while and the earth seemed to be calming. When stillness finally settled, he heard a faint moan. He shuffled forward on all fours trying to ignore the pain caused by the cinders on his hands and knees.

When his hand touched a soft heap, he knew he’d found her. Drawing closer, he ran his hands over her body trying to ascertain the damage. He found no trace of blood and she seemed to be breathing normally. She must have fainted. He sat next to her and cradled her in his arms, softly singing a nonsense song he’d learnt when he was young. The words made funny sounds that, as a kid, had made him laugh. When he’d finished, he brushed the hair from her eyes, repeating over and over: Everything is going to be all right…

He was exhausted. It had been a terribly long day. Maybe dawn was on its way or maybe there would never be any light in such a world. He had no idea. He let himself slip till he was lying on the ground, then, still holding Sally in his arms, he closed his eyes and drifted off to sleep.

The Pub

Brent had difficulty opening his eyes. When he managed, it felt like his lids were lined with grit. And his head hurt. Gingerly fingering his skull he discovered a large bump and his hair was matted with clotted blood. The rock! His throat was parched. His stomach growled. A whimsical thought crossed his mind: they’d missed the buffet after the memorial ceremony and he hadn’t eaten since breakfast in the Lodge. Their friends, Martin and Fran, had prepared a feast for those attending the ceremony. He’d seen them laying out food in the Community Hall just before he’d gone to the Cathedral across the square. The couple were wizards at making exquisite food. Even the thought of it would have had his mouth watering had it not been bone dry.

If only he had something of Sally’s ability, he’d make those smells come from real food, something he could eat, but his abilities lay with stories and the imagination. No amount of imagination would quench his thirst or assuage his hunger. All the same, he passed the time in the dark imagining he was drinking a pint of cool lager down the pub. He even knew who’d be there: Keira, Sally’s lover and his too. But as he looked around he could see her nowhere. He reclined in the soft folds of his armchair and swallowed another mouthful of the delicious brew. A packet of crisps lay open on the table. He took a handful, then, for some inexplicable reason, crushed the crisps to crumbs and tossed them into his mouth, munching vigorously.

Brent? Sally’s croaked. What are you doing?

Having a pint and a packet of crisps, he mumbled, his mouth still full.

May I join you? she implored.

If you must. His surliness surprised him.

Looking up, he saw Sally in the armchair opposite holding out her hand for something to eat and drink. He threw her the remains of the packet of crisps, sending fragments of crisps flying as he did and then plopped a glass of beer down in front of her.

Cheers! she said, hesitant, as if unsure it was the right thing to say, then she gulped a mouthful.

If he looked anything like her, he must be a terrible sight. Black dust was smeared across her face, arms and legs. Her dress was ripped in several places and her eyes looked haggard.

What did you do to your head? she asked, once she’d downed half the pint.

The question annoyed him. Hit it on a rock.

She nodded looking at him through narrowed eyes, then she glanced around. He followed her gaze. There wasn’t much to see. His imagination had only filled in the details close to the table. Whenever his eyes tried to look further, they slithered by, always coming back to their corner.

Sally swallowed the last of the crisps. Could you rustle up something more substantial?

What am I, your servant? he snapped.

She looked taken aback and hung her head in thought for a moment. You remember those bacon and Brie sandwiches Fran and Martin made? I’d really like one of those.

He remembered all right, they’d been delicious, but was loathed to do as she asked. What was wrong with him? Normally he’d be delighted to please her. You wouldn’t be pregnant would you? he asked, meaning it as a joke, but his words came out more like an accusation.

She shook her head, looking horrified. Seeing her desperation he relented and did as she’d asked: two large sandwiches with a generous slice of Bree and a thick rasher of backgammon still slightly warm. There was even a mixed salad and a couple of cherry tomatoes. How strange. It was as if he’d ended up inside one of his own stories. He was used to carrying people away with his stories, but doing it to himself was alarming.

Seeing the sandwiches, neither bothered with formalities. They tucked in till their plates were licked clean.

Got any more? she asked, sucking her fingers as she sank back into the cushions and splayed her legs across the low table in front of her sending one of the empty beer glasses flying onto the floor.

Watch out! he snapped, picking up the glass.

He’d enjoyed the meal and would willingly have eaten more, but he was beginning to feel drowsy and he wasn’t sure what would happen if he fell asleep. Would the place continue to exist? The thought troubled him. What happened to the world of a story when its teller was no longer around? So what do we do now? he thought out loud, getting up and pacing around the table.

Gimme a bowl of warm water, a flannel and a towel, she demanded.

You really do take me for a servant, he complained, snapping his fingers dramatically. They washed their hands and faces and then she offered to tend his wound, but he refused. She might be his lover, but the thought of being touched was unbearable. His skin was on edge.

How about another pint? she suggested.

He refused. I’ll fall asleep. His eyes were already beginning to droop.

Tea then, or coffee, she suggested.

So tea it was and wafer thin chocolate biscuits. He’d mistakenly thought that something sweet might improve his humour. Wrong again!

Well boss, what are we going to do now? she asked, downing the rest of her tea.

Her irony grated on his nerves. He picked up a handful of biscuits, dunked them in his tea, causing the beverage to overflow, then shoved the soggy mass into his mouth. He had no idea. But he had to do something. If he sat there a few minutes longer he’d scream. Go back to that world, he said, and find out why we were drawn there.

Sally groaned, surprising him. He glanced in her direction only to see her pull a face. It was not like her to give up on a challenge. I suppose you’re right, she admitted, her expression becoming more thoughtful. What do you think made us jump to another world.

He thought back over the moments before they’d slipped from one world to another. It seemed so long ago. Weren’t you holding hands with Mae?

Mae was Sally’s newfound sister, former administrator of the Theosophy Department at Avan University. The two girls had become very rich when their father, Professor Rafter, had died.

She let go of my hand when she turned to talk to Ben. That’s when we shifted worlds. Both lapsed into silence. I was wondering how to get back to the Reaches.

The fire that had ravaged the Professor’s house just after his death had destroyed the two talismans they used to travel to that other world called the Reaches.

I was thinking of the fire that caused the loss of John Llewellyn’s ring and Mae’s pendant, she added. Her face screwed up with suffering at the thought of her father’s death. Surely I didn’t spark that destruction.

What nonsense! He was the storyteller, not her. What’s more, her abilities didn’t work that way. Of course not.

What about you? she challenged. What were you thinking of?

It wouldn’t do to tell her he’d been thinking of Keira and their passionate lovemaking during their journey to the Reaches. The mere thought of Keira had him trembling with desire. I can’t remember. Tell me, he went on hoping to conceal his guilt – not that Sally didn’t know about his love for her best friend and lover, was it you that made the earth tremble?

I tried to roll back time like I normally do. I hoped to find a suitable period when the place looked promising. But something blocked me. The more I tried, the more the place trembled. It was terrifying. She grabbed the last of the biscuits and swallowed them as if that might alleviate her fear.

Maybe there has only ever been fire and destruction in that world; a sort of fireworld, he mused.

But why should we land there?

Brent had no idea. We’re going to have to go back and find out.

She nodded reluctantly. Could you conjure up a couple of rucksacks full of provisions and some strong torches?

She was making an effort to be diplomatic, for once. They’d need other clothes too, he thought, and better shoes. OK.

Once they’d changed out of the tattered remains of what the tailors had so painstakingly made for the memorial ceremony, they checked the contents of the sacks and donned them ready to leave. Despite their decision, Brent found it difficult to imagine them back in the fireworld. He really didn’t want to go.

Enlisting help

A giant red orb rose in the east casting a fiery light over the grey, monotonous landscape. Brent shivered. Pockmarked plains scattered with cinders and ash spread as far as he could see. Thank heavens the firespouts had ceased.

Which way should we go? Sally asked turning slowly, looking in every direction.

Brent hitched off his backpack and pulled a compass from a side pocket. Thought this might help.

To his annoyance, the pointer spun round and round in the dim light. Must be different here.

I wish Jenny were with us, Sally said. Her skill with the earth’s energies might help us find the way to go.

He had to agree. Not only could Jenny perceive the Earth’s energy but she could use it to heal people. Yeah, she would come in very useful.

What the hell! a voice exclaimed. It was Jenny dressed in her pajamas. She looked at them wide-eyed.

Sally? Brent? she asked and then buckled over and collapsed to the ground amid a cloud of grey dust.

Back in the familiar corner of the pub, they stretched Jenny out on a settee where she lay unconscious, her legs dangling loosely onto the floor. Sally sat next to her, holding her hand singing softly. Brent paced the pub deep in thought and, as he did, the limits of the space grew to accommodate him. He paid scarce attention to the phenomenon. He had other concerns. Could he have been responsible for calling Jenny? If he hadn’t then it must have been Sally, but the young woman had appeared only when he’d thought she should come. He glanced at Sally. She was looking worriedly at Jenny whose face was deathly pale.

We need help, Sally said urgently. I’ve no idea what’s wrong with her. It could be serious. I’m no use. I know too little about healing.

Brent stopped his pacing. They needed Keira, of course! She was the most experienced healer of the group, along with Jenny. But he was reluctant to fetch her. Now he knew he could do it, he didn’t want to drag anyone else into their nightmare. He hadn’t the slightest idea if he’d be able to think them back home when the time came. And what would happen if Keira fell ill too? Who would heal her? He glanced back at Sally and Jenny.

Sally must have read his thoughts because she whispered, Please.

So he pictured Keira being with them and there she was.

Unlike Jenny, Keira slept naked, but she didn’t seem phased by finding herself without clothes in the middle of an unknown pub. Well it wasn’t so unfamiliar. Brent had imagined a mixture of the best of several pubs he knew.

So this is where you’re holed up. Are you folks having a party?

No one laughed. Then she caught sight of Jenny and hurried to her side. What’s going on? she asked, kneeling down by the young woman.

Sally explained while Keira examined Jenny.

I can find no apparent sign of injury, she reported when she’d finished, worry creeping into her voice. Tell me again what you were doing when she was called to you.

We’d just discovered that the compass went haywire in the FireWorld. We wondered if Jenny could help, Brent explained.

Jenny is very sensitive to energy fields, Keira mused, my guess is that her whole system has been thrown off balance by the turmoil of that world.

Sally and Brent glanced at each other and then at Keira. What do we do? Sally asked.

Can you transfer her to Avan? Keira asked.

I don’t know. I’ve only been able to bring people here, he admitted. He didn’t even know how he did that.

Hold on a moment, Sally said. If this is a different place, maybe it doesn’t have the same turbulence and Jenny will get better.

Brent pulled the compass from his pocket. A quick glance indicated that the compass was as wild as it had been in the Fireworld. He shook his head. In bringing us here, I don’t think I took us away from the Fireworld. This place must be like a parenthesis.

Let’s think this through, Sally suggested. If your hypothesis is correct Keira, and it is the energy turbulence that is making Jenny sick, maybe that’s because it creates a similar turbulence within her that her body is unable to bear. She paused to gather her thoughts. So, if we can’t get her out of here, we either need to shield her from that turbulence or make her temporally immune.

Brent thought about the second option. Maybe there’s some way to turn off her sensitivity when needed, he mused out loud.

I have an idea, Sally exclaimed. You remember how Irina gave an electric shock to anyone who touched her?

The other two nodded, both had suffered at the hands of the girl. Literally!

It was a real nightmare. She was desperate. She had to find a way to switch it off. Rather like Jenny needs to turn off her gift now. Well Irina found a solution by asking help from the elementals, the very ones that beset her, attracted by her energy. I don’t know what they told her, but it worked.

So you think Jenny should ask for help from the spirits of earth, water, air and fire? Brent asked, somewhat dubious.

Maybe not elementals, Sally retorted. But she should ask for help like Irina, with something like a prayer.

Brent remained sceptical. But she’s out cold. How can she possibly pray?

Maybe we have to do it for her, Sally put forward.

So how do we do this? Keira asked, clearly game.

It might help to close our eyes, Sally began. Each of us knows how to meditate, that might be a good start and then we mentally ask for help for Jenny. Don’t go into details. It’s not necessary. Just want it with all your heart. Then we give silent thanks for the help. That’s it. It’s as simple as that. Sally glanced at Keira then Brent. All right? They both nodded. Off we go.

Brent didn’t really know how to meditate, but he did know how to go into a trance. When he was younger he’d played around with hypnosis. So he let himself slip into a trance and then turned his thoughts to Jenny. He imagined himself on his knees before the altar in Avan Cathedral. The image startled him. He really wasn’t a churchgoer and didn’t believe in such things. But it came that way, as if the image was dictating the story rather than the storyteller. So he stared up at the brilliantly lit stained glass windows above the altar and wished that help would come. He bowed his head and remained in that imaginary position for quite a while recollecting his times with Jenny and Tom, her former boyfriend, then thanked the forces that be before he stood and left.

Judging from their collective gasp they must have all opened their eyes at the same moment. Brent had to rub his eyelids several times to make sure he was seeing right. There in front of them sat Tom in his wheelchair staring nonchalantly at them.

You called?

Brent burst out laughing. The man’s reaction was completely surrealistic. He couldn’t possibly have known they’d called anyone. Furthermore, how could Tom be a solution to Jenny’s problem? OK. He’d been her boyfriend for a long time, but he’d refused to return to the Reaches with her and the two had parted. He had no special gift and what’s more, he was severally handicapped and condemned to move around in a wheelchair. Brent remembered the terrible accident that had nearly killed Tom. A burning building had crashed down on him as he helped save the town’s people. Brent abruptly cut short the memory, fearful he might conjure it up for real.

Tom? Sally asked dubiously. Good to see you. She sounded unsure if not a little shaken by what had happened.

Why did you call me? Tom asked, unperturbed.

Because Jenny is ill and we don’t know what to do, Keira began and she went on to explain what had happened.

You did well to call me, Tom told them.

Clearly Tom had come as a result of their prayer, but how could he possibly help? And what made him so sure? It was quite unlike him. The more Brent thought about it, the more Tom’s presence irritated him.

The Voice

Tom wheeled his chair to Jenny’s side and laid his hand gently on her forehead. She looked so pale and weak. Had he been too selfish leaving her? It’d seemed right at the time. But this was not the moment to ponder his mixed feelings.

What should I do, he asked silently?

First you need to get her conscious, the resounding voice told him.

Tom waited knowing more information would come.

I suggest a tiny dose of digitalis prepared from the dried foxglove leaves. That will stimulate her heart and get things back into movement.

Tom turned to Brent saying: Can you get me some digitalis?

Surely that’s dangerous, Sally put in, alarmed.

In small quantities it’s a stimulant, Keira reassured them.

Brent was clearly loathed to trust Tom. Tom couldn’t blame him. How could Brent know he’d changed? When he left for Switzerland he’d been a broken man. Now he felt much more self-assured, thanks to the deep voice in his head.

How do you know what to prescribed and how much to use? Brent asked, unable to conceal his suspicion.

You asked for help, Tom pointed out. You’re going to have to trust that help.

Brent was furious. He looked at Sally then Keira for support, but neither seemed to share his doubts. I find that difficult, Brent admitted reluctantly.

I know, Tom responded. First we need to get her conscious and then we need to help her shield against the energy disturbances. The digitalis will bring her round.

Brent clearly still had doubts but gave in, muttering to himself. There on the table stood a tiny flask of digitalis. It was as if he’d deliberately conjured up the smallest quantity possible, but it would be sufficient.

Thanks, Tom said, glancing at Brent with a smile.

Brent scowled. Tom added a drop to a small quantity of water and gently eased some between Jenny’s sleeping lips as Sally and Keira drew closer to watch.

It’ll take a while, the voice told him.

Tom sat quietly next to Jenny, his eyes closed. He was tired. Since he’d first heard the voice it hadn’t ceased talking, informing him about the Reaches and travelling between worlds. Such voices apparently didn’t need to sleep. They’d also talked about knowing the future, a subject that had troubled Tom during the days before he left Avan.

Tom found it difficult to talk so much to someone without knowing the person’s name. But the voice had none. So, after mulling over many different names, he opted to call him Donar. It sounded appropriate and when he looked it up he found it was another name for the god of thunder. Donar was amused and graciously accepted to respond to the name.

Tom, Jenny whispered breathless. You’re back! It sounded as if she doubted what she saw.

Tom opened his eyes to see her looking at him. He nodded by way of reply. Let’s say I had some unfinished business, so when I was called, I was glad to come, he told her, grinning.

She stretched out her arms to him and they embraced for a long moment, silent and unmoving.

It’s good to be back, he whispered in her ear. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Brent moving away, irritation written all over his face. Then abruptly he disappeared. Nobody else seemed to have noticed.

Don’t worry. He’ll be back, Donar told him.

What happened to me? Jenny enquired as she pulled away from Tom.

Sally explained.

It’s the energy field in this place. It’s making you ill, Tom added. It’s so unpredictable and you are extremely sensitive. Donar will help, he said seeking to reassure her.

Who’s Donar? Sally and Keira asked in unison.

A good friend, Tom answered, not wishing to say more. During his short stay in the Jura Mountains he’d not been able to speak to anybody about it and he was reticent to do so now.

That’s not going to be enough, Donar pointed out. Not if you want to regain their confidence.

He’s a bit like your Mee, he said to Sally. He’s a voice in my head.

All three young women seemed delighted. Tom imagined they were also pleased for him as he’d always been the odd one out, being the only one who didn’t have his own special gift or ability.

Do you want to talk directly to Jenny? Tom asked Donar.

No. This concerns everybody, Donar told him.

Donar wants to say something, Tom said.

As you know, Donar began, his deep resounding voice rattling the glasses on the table, the energy in this world is in total confusion. That state particularly affects Jenny who is extremely sensitive. But it also affects the rest of you. Brent’s anger, for example, can be attributed to its agitation.

It was only at the mention of his name that they noticed he’d left. A wave of panic spread through the young women as they stood and starred about looking for their friend.

How are we to get out of here without him? Sally worried.

He’ll be back, Donar reassured them. He feels so angry, but he doesn’t understand why. He’s left to try to work it off so you don’t have to put up with his filthy temper.

I’ve never known him like that, Sally mused. Quite out of character!

Are we going to get angry too? Keira asked.

Maybe. Maybe not, Donar replied.

So what can we do to protect ourselves? Jenny asked.

Donar laughed causing a shock wave to roll through the room almost causing them to fall over. Sorry, he apologised. I forget the power of my voice. So let me tell you what you have to do …

Furioso

Damn and blast! Of all the lousy things to happen …

Furious, Brent kicked a large lump of cinder sending it skimming across the rough terrain throwing up a cloud of dust and sparks. The place stank of burning. He felt on fire himself. Enraged. Try as he would he couldn’t unclench his jaw. It ached. He massaged his cheeks. That hurt. But he was no less tense.

If he met anyone now, he’d bite them for sure. He imagined planting his teeth in the person’s neck and felt a rush of pleasure. His whole body was so taut he might snap at any moment. His clenched his fists and imagined punching Tom on the nose, blood squirting everywhere. Deep inside some distant part of him cringed. He let out a gusty scream trying to bellow off as much steam as possible. It only made things worse. He stamped up and down waving his arms in fury, to no avail. He only got angrier.

It’s not my fault, he shouted. He hadn’t wanted Tom to turn up and spoil things. A small part of him wondered why he was blaming Tom, but he quashed the thought. As he stomped across the wastes, scuffing up cinders as he did, he drew up an immense mental list why Tom was a despicable bastard. The futility of it only sparked more resentment.

He sped up his steps till he was jogging faster and faster. Driving his anger into his feet, he pounded the ground, sending sparks flying in every direction. A faint rumble of fear sounded in the distance and approached, taking form. What if he caught fire? He ground on, pushing himself ever faster. Smoke was rising from his shoes. He could smell the rubber burning. They might ignite at any moment. Maybe he should slow down. But he couldn’t. He just ran faster.

Behind him a trail burst into flames where he’d stepped and the flames gained on him. He screamed, a high-pitched keening sound that seemed to have nothing to do with him. The fire began anticipating his moves, bursting into flames where he was about to set his feet, despite his efforts to dodge. An increasingly dense cloud of smoke swirled around him till he could see nothing. His feet stung with the intense heat. Yet he pelted on, panting now, suffocated by the smoke and the smell of burning flesh.

Please! Please! Let go of me. He prayed. He pleaded. He beseeched. Please! I won’t. I can’t. I didn’t. I…

Suddenly the ground was gone beneath his feet. Gone was the heat. Gone was the running. He was plunging in free fall. Air rushed past, ripping at his clothes, tearing at his hair. Down and down. Would it ever end? Would it …

Splash! The shock of hitting water knocked him senseless. Then water rushed into his lungs and he struggled violently, flaying out, fighting to get to the surface, to reach air. He must have succeeded because he shot upwards and broke the surface, rising several feet in the air. He coughed and spluttered as he gasped to get oxygen into his lungs before he sank back into the water. He plunged and resurfaced several times till he managed to maintain himself on the surface. Thank heavens he was a strong swimmer.

Eyes finally opened, he peered upwards. Towering above was a massive cliff, black and sinister. No wonder he’d been knocked senseless. Turning in the opposite direction he expected an unending sea stretching away to the horizon. Instead land was almost within reach. He’d fallen into a narrow, water-filled channel. A few strong strokes took him to the bank. He clambered out and up onto the welcome grass where he collapsed on his back staring up at a cloudless sky.

In that moment something loosened its grip leaving him soothed at last and with it shame flooded over him. How could he? He just wanted to return to the pub and apologise, if ever they’d have him back.

Snapped

What was that? Jenny exclaimed startled, interrupting Donar who was demonstrating how to shield against energy fields. Something had snapped. Yeah, ‘snapped’. She’d heard a twanging sound that had vibrated inside her. It had left her feeling different in a way she could not describe. The others looked at her perplexed. Didn’t you hear it?

Nobody had.

What did you hear? Tom asked.

It was like a chord snapping…

Something must have happened to your friend Brent, Donar surmised. This room is maintained by and linked to him. He must have done something that resolved the discrepancies in the energy fields.

Jenny found that hard to believe. Brent had no skill in earth energies. Donar was right about one thing: the energy field had improved. She was feeling much better. How do you know? Jenny asked, wondering if he also had a sense for such fields.

Let’s say informed guesses, was his answer.

Jenny was disappointed. For a moment she thought she’d found a fellow soul. That said, Donar probably knew many things that could be useful.

Have you folks got anything to eat? I’m starving. Jenny asked.

She had no idea how long she’d lain unconscious. Time seemed suspended in the pub. She looked around the room. There were no windows and there was no clock either. To her shock much remained only vaguely sketched as if the person who’d created the place hadn’t bothered to finish his work.

Where’s the bar? she wondered out loud.

I don’t think there is one, Sally replied. Whenever we wanted something to eat or drink, Brent conjured it ... Halting in mid-sentence, realising, no doubt, the implications of Brent’s absence. Judging from the look on their faces, the others had too.

What are we going to do? Keira asked, sounding concerned.

Nobody had an answer. Glancing round at their faces, Jenny saw only worry.

Can any of you send dream messages? Donar asked in their heads, resourceful as ever.

Sally could and she knew Brent best.

Knowing him well might give you more chance of success, Donar added.

Sally looked perplexed. I’m not sure what I should ask for? she admitted.

Tell him to come back immediately, Tom said.

Sally smiled, apparently amused at how direct he’d become. Before he would have been more diplomatic. Sally nodded and curled up in an armchairs, closing her eyes.

Silence fell as everyone avoided disturbing her. Jenny resolved to ask Sally to teach her to send dream messages. While she waited, she sent out her senses trying to feel the presence of Brent but he was beyond reach. She wondered if the fireworld, for she supposed it was there Brent had gone, was a completely different world. She was pondering the abrupt change she’d felt earlier when Sally came back to her senses, stretching as she opened her eyes.

Everyone drew closer, eager to know what had happened.

I think I reached him, Sally said, her tone unsure. But it was as if he wasn’t listening, as if he were distracted. Maybe he was asleep or not receptive to my message. She paused a moment clawing her fingers through her hair. I was never very good at dream messaging, she admitted sheepishly.

Jenny wanted to ask Donar if he could go and find Brent, but Keira spoke first.

Maybe the message is not right, she suggested.

Several people asked what she meant.

Well perhaps you have to make him feel the difficulty of our situation…

Yeah, make him feel our pain, Tom grinned.

Nobody else was amused except Jenny, who smiled weakly.

OK. I’ll try, Sally ventured and she lay back in her armchair again.

Whatever was happening it took much longer this time. So much so that Jenny wondered if Sally had fallen asleep. The others began talking quietly as they waited.

When Sally finally did surface she seemed to have some difficulty returning to consciousness. Rather than looking refreshed as one might after sleep, she appeared tired and worn.

No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t convince him, she admitted, clearly dispirited at her failure. He’s caught up in something and doesn’t want to leave. If it's any consolation, he did promise to come as soon as possible.

Several moans greeted her words. Jenny found Sally’s news out of character. Brent was not one to deliberately make his friends suffer.

What could he be doing that is so important? she asked.

He didn’t say, was all Sally replied.

Maybe it really is important, Keira speculated siding half-heartedly with Brent.

What could be more important than our hunger, Jenny wondered, her stomach gurgling.

Tom nodded in agreement.

Sounds like he's lost, Donar put in. You should - what’s the word for it - befriend him.

Sally laughed nervously although she was clearly not amused. Keira snorted.

How can I befriend someone who is already my friend and lover? Sally asked.

Jenny had to agree. The others looked perplexed too.

I meant, get him to tell you what’s happening. Show interest in that. It’ll help you understand why he won’t come back… and give you arguments to convince him, Donar explained.

Ok. I’ll go and befriend him, as you put it, Sally said, curling up in her armchair once more.

In the Wild

Brent rolled over and stretched his legs and arms, popping joints as he did. He was stiff and cold and wet. It took a moment to remember why he was so wet and a further moment to know how he got there. The fireworld and then the river, if that was what the narrow stretch of water was. He shook his head trying to clear his thoughts. He’d been dreaming about Sally, but only vague fragments remained. She'd stood strangely just beyond reach.

He shoved aside the memories, struggled to his feet and looked around. The sun had just risen casting a red glow over everything. Everything? Looking in the opposite direction to the towering black cliff of the fireworld he discovered rolling hills, lush with grass but devoid of trees. No signs of habitation, no wild animals, no cultivated fields, no prospect of food. He’d need to find something soon, but first he’d scale the bank to see if the river was drinkable.

He tumbled down the steep incline causing stones and clods of earth to roll with him till he landed with a bump amid debris on a narrow patch of sand by the water’s edge. Squatting, he cupped his hands and scooped up water which he cautiously sipped. Fresh water! Delicious! He drank deeply then splashed handfuls over his face and hair. Wiping his eyes dry with the back of his hand he peered at the sinister black wall that reared up in front of him marking the frontier of the fireworld. Here and there curls of smoke rose, vying with jets of flame. Try as he would he could not see the top.

Slipping back onto his haunches he lowered himself to the ground and leaned against the bank. It was surprisingly soft, so comfortable even that he relaxed and sprawled backwards leaning his whole weight on the bank, till it jabbed him in the ribs with a sharp object. Brent scuttled out of reach and turned to see what had attacked him. There, huddled in a hollow in the bank, lay a young girl, glaring at him, her filthy fingernails brandished like claws.

Brent burst out laughing to which the girl snarled and swiped the air between them. He instinctively withdrew stepping clumsily into the water and fell over backwards with a splash. Wet again! It was her turn to laugh. He clambered back onto the sandbank and held out a sopping hand in what he hoped was a friendly gesture. She bared her teeth and snapped her jaws together with a resounding clack.

Keeping a safe distance he squatted down and observed. Her age was difficult to tell. She was slight in build although she looked strong. The muscles on her naked arms and legs stood out like an Amazon. Her hair was short and matted with mud and dirt. Her face, for all its grime, was strikingly pretty. She appraised him too, her dark eyes roving voraciously over his body in a way that shocked him. He wasn’t used to women looking at him as if he were a meal. For all his embarrassment, desire kindled between his legs.

It was at that moment she pounced. In the flash of a second she plunged, he imagined a razor sharp knife slitting his throat and as the blood pumped sticky and warm out of him, he wished his life goodbye. Instead she grabbed at his clothes, tearing at them with her fingers and her teeth till she’d ripped off every stitch. Then she glued her lips to his, plunging her tongue into his mouth and ground at him with her loins, rubbing his sex against her wet skin till he was rock hard. On his back now, she straddled him in one lithe movement and then urgently forced him deep inside her. A small part of him watched on, debating what to do, but all the rest had long since caught fire and was ready to explode. Once she’d finished with him, she crouched down in the shallowest part of the river and splashed water copiously between her legs. Then she returned to the hollow in the bank and resumed her original position.

He shifted closer, expecting her to relent in her defensiveness now they’d been intimate, but she snarled and bared her teeth as if nothing had happened. Keeping a safe distance he squatted opposite her.

My name’s Brent, he ventured.

But she just stared at him, perplexed. He was perplexed too. No past experience armed him for such a situation. Not even his wild bouts with Mia in the dream world. Maybe the girl was deaf. Maybe she didn’t understand English. Or maybe she was plain simple. He pointed at himself, like people often did in films when they met savages or aliens, and said: I’m Brent. Then he pointed at her saying: What’s your name? She continued to stare at him, clearly wary, but not disinterested. He was at a loss as to what to do. Surely he couldn’t give up so easily.

Their one-sided discussion was abruptly interrupted by strident shrieks that resonated over the grassy plain above, getting closer all the time. The girl sprang out of her hollow, grabbed him by the arm, dragged him into the water and started swimming powerfully away. Glancing back over his shoulder as he swam after her, he caught sight of a horde of savages swarming across the bank brandishing spears. Nothing prevented them from running along the bank to catch up with him, it would have been so easy, but instead a fight erupted and the group dislocated into surging waves of confusion.

He could watch no longer as the girl was drawing rapidly ahead and he struggled to keep up. The riverbank curved to the left, opening the way to a wide expanse of water. The girl, who continued to swim close to the bank, hurled an inarticulate warning. Just in time! There were violent whirlpools close by. He strove to follow her but the currents were strong. Inexorably the water was pulling him further away from the bank.

Suddenly a hand clasped his arm in a tight grip and another clamped over his mouth. He almost panicked till he realised it was her. She kept trying to pull him under the water. He resisted at first then took a deep breath and submitted. To his surprise, the currents were not so strong a few yards below the surface. He swam under water behind her till he thought his lungs would burst.

They both surfaced in calmer waters and, catching their breath, they hurried to the waterside. No rest this time. She set off at a run across the bank and into the fields following a winding path. He ran after her, his eyes fixed on her muscular back, admiring the fluidity of her movements