 
### Diary of a Teenage Faërie Princess

C.B. Smith

This book is work of fiction. Any reference to historical events, real people, or real locales are used fictitiously. Other names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author's imagination, and any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

Cover design by Hubie Gann

Copyright © 2008 by C.B. Smith

Published by C.B. Smith at Smashwords

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

All rights reserved.

*****

"Whee!" Jaynie squealed as she raced on her skateboard along the sidewalk, which for the moment was blissfully empty of pedestrians. A beautiful day. A beautiful day indeed. Especially so when wheeling along on her favorite skateboard.

At one time she had considered going pro with this adventure, joining a skate team, competing worldwide, all the wonder and excitement given to a life of professional sports. But this inkling of an idea, a trickling flourish more like, came and went like a stray wind. She may have been thankfully oblivious to most of life's ugliness, but unseeing she was not; Living in a small town like Dumas was not the express route to fulfilling dreams of stardom and worldwide acclaim.

A dim red bulb is how her friends would describe her. If she actually had any friends that is. Jaynie did not like people, that's what she told herself, yet upon close scrutiny one could easily discern the enormous pleasure she derived from the horrified expressions she caused when committing her famous Public Acts of Atrocity as she was fond of doing. Nothing too out of the unusual mind you. A stickler for flourish and a purist to the core she favored the classics: touching herself inappropriately, picking her nose with chopsticks, fondling her colossal toes; in restaurants, bus stops, airports, newsstands, church services, any place that looked to her in need of disruption, which was just about any place. And just as the actors from Le Grand Guignol, she judged her success by the number of faintings in her audience.

Clearly, outlandish behavior such as this is the impression most young girls DO NOT wish to make. Hence, she remained friendless. But what was a poor girl to do? When she wasn't trammeling through town on her skateboard; shocking pedestrians, frightening to near heart attack, flying into intersections at brake screeching speeds, things could get...well...BORING!

And boredom could cause her do embark upon _crazy_ schemes, truly _maniacal_ enterprises incalculable in their scope and uncontrollable in their range. Like the time she littered the beach restrooms with cherry bombs, sending a spray of inconceivable spewage skyward, dulling and darkening the otherwise cerulean blue sky on that ocean bound throng-of-a- day ten years ago.

Vendors pulled out their hair, women screamed and, yes, fainted, men ballyhooed and bellowed threatening all manner of retribution, while children, in their off the cuff childlike way, giggled and squealed in immeasurable delight.

Public nuisance number one since age five, she was well acquainted with the art of social disintegration. The way she looked at it, she was merely another pebble in the ongoing avalanche.

*****

How a young girl could have come to so wild—some would say _radical_ —a beginning, can be summed up in one simple word: mother. Casting back into her childhood memory, Jaynie had only the vaguest recollection of someone, no doubt mother, kissing and hugging and cuddling and being all around attentive to her. But as these memories are so faint and evanescent, Jaynie was not sure if these recollections were in fact memories or the wishes of a lonely motherless child.

Did she ever in all her wanderings question why there was no mother in her closed-in universe? No. Not one time. Her father was a constant fixture in her life, always had been, and the way she saw it this was just the order of things and all she had ever known. So, like the self-contained little girl she had become she went forward, storing whatever questions she may have deep deep deep inside, so far buried as to be invisible.

It was one day when the sun had just breezed over the horizon one more time much as it had done since the beginning. Jaynie, busily at work studying the drag and swing of her big toes in the expanse of her feet, was deep in thought when the sparkling idea of the moment struck her.

"I really could use a new pair of sneakers," she determined. "Just look at this miserable excuse for sneakers I have on!"

The sneakers upon her feet were flagged indeed; holes on the side panels, tread free soles, laces shredded and ragged. It was a wonder to her how she could continue to wear shoddy sneakers such as these. Yet, she had worn these sneakers well past their useful life. Now she knew it as sure as the ailing sun knew it would rise again.

"I need some new sneakers," she said.

Aunt Malinda, her father Wilbur Morrison, and the town of Dumas were all she had ever known of the world. The last pair of sneakers she bought five years ago. Nobody should wear one pair of sneakers for five years. But Jaynie had a system to make it possible. Each night she would brush and clean her sneakers, and powder the insides with hair talc. This she had learned from Aunt Malinda.

"It is a well-kept family secret," she had told Jaynie. "The same system your uncle Thad, bless his departed soul, used to care for his shoes. Do you know that in all the thirty-five years I spent with that man he only bought shoes twice? And let me tell you, those shoes on the day he replaced them were just as new and clean smelling as the day he bought them.

Jaynie was a bit perplexed when her aunt had told her this. "If they were in such good shape, why did he replace them?"

"Oh," Aunt Malinda said, her rotund cheeks going all rosy, "He did it every fifteen years on our anniversary; just for me. A tribute, he said, to how young and fresh our love still was. Like a new pair of shoes!"

Jaynie heard that and thought it the sweetest thing _._

Hey. If undying love could happen in so glorious a way for Aunt Malinda, it could happen for me. I am after all her favorite niece!

*****

Jaynie arrived to the Bigguns Shoe Emporium and strolled through the swinging front doors with a sense of purpose. She strolled with an attitude that said, "I have money and I am not afraid to use it." This would have been an exciting and wonderful thing to see, if anyone was around to see it. The unfortunate incident was that the on duty staff had all gathered at the back of the store to celebrate the birthday of one of the staff members. By all accounting of the owner they should not have been all of them preoccupied during the hours of business. But as the owner was nowhere to be seen at the moment they took the liberty of taking liberties.

When Jaynie strolled through the door like a ten-penny nail in a box of one-penny nails, she was expecting to be greeted by wide expectant eyes that had understood from her puffed-as-a-passionate-puffer-fish promenade that she had money and was not afraid to use it. But as no one was there to see her grand entrance, she had to content herself with her reflection in the full-length mirror at the back of the store as her only witness.

"Hmm," she mumbled. "No one around but you, reflection mine. Well, then. I guess it's just you and me."

With this she set about shuffling through the boxes of sneakers, selecting styles, colors, sizes, creating a flurry and folly of activity that surely was impressive in and of itself. But as there was not one about to get impressed, she herself was impressed for everyone. She was impressed most exorbitantly.

"I think the assembling of these sneakers, in the precise imprecision I have done, is maybe the most impressive thing I have ever done. In fact it is what I would call my pièce de résistance."

Saying this led her to an instantaneous examination of the depths of her own misappropriated ignorance. She knew not exactly what pièce de résistance meant, but she knew it was something grand, at least as grand as most impressive.

"Yes," she said, "I have done this most impressively."

She began trying on sneakers one after another. Shoes Jasmine and Cory, soon to be replaced sneakers, watched with glum horror as Jaynie oohed and aahed, her eyes sparkled, her lips made kissy face, knowing that sure as Shinola she would soon select the new pair of sneakers that would replace them. They wished and whined as hard as they could in their own footwear-y way to stop this madness from continuing. Pictures flashed through their gum-rubber, polyurethane and canvas minds of their blissful days as loyal foot stewards crashing to a close. Shoe Jasmine, in her own sweetly poignant inanimate way, shed a tear as much as any inanimate object could be said to do such a thing, and shoe Cory, well, he just harrumphed. The sky was pitching and puking acid rain in their little universe. And soon, as if Jasmine and Cory's pleas had been heard, Jaynie came to a disappointing conclusion.

"These sneakers are too small; even the double width sizes. My big toes are just TOO BIG!"

Her puffed-as-a-passionate-puffer-fish pose began deflating. Right there in front of her eyes as the beautiful red and yellow balloon of excitement she had inflated went limp and flaccid like a wet noodle. She had meant to buy some sneakers. Had money and was not afraid to use it. But somewhere along the road to this moment at the Bigguns Shoe Emporium her big toes had got so big she could not get a shoe to fit her.

"Does no one have sneakers for the phalangeally disfigured girl?"

To this question she had no answer. All she knew at the moment was that she was extremely disappointed. She would consider herself lucky if she knew the cruel shenanigans running wild in the shoe bins. The Heels, the Sneakers, the Decks, were all and every one of them grinning and smirking and sniggering, some going so far as sneering at this picture of teenage dejection that was Jaynie. Yes, bullies they were. Each and every one.

They were not deserving of even the smallest inkling of her attention.

So Jaynie picked herself up and walked out, wandering down the streets, across bridges, through parks, and on buses, thinking the whole time about what she could do now that would deliver her from her unshod condition. She could not understand that given her less than happy mood, why she felt compelled to skip and shuffle and dance as she walked about. This understanding may never come.

What she did not know was that sneakers Jasmine and Cory, so overjoyed at having been spared the executioner's blade, so to speak, were expressing their joy in the best way they knew, putting a zing and zest in her step that defied her present disposition. Nonetheless, Jaynie would remember this as an odd but strangely enjoyable time, a time where the thought passed through her mind more than once, "Why get rid of these sneakers, anyways? So the laces are shred; replace them. So the soles are worn and the tops perforated; custom worn for added comfort. Yep, they are my sneakers all right, been through many adventures, we have. And now that I think about it I definitely would miss them."

And so it seemed her sneakers, Jasmine and Cory, had the last laugh, a laugh heard from the ocean floor to the outer stratosphere.

That night, Jaynie had the strongest and strangest dream of herself lost in a heavily foliated jungle where odd whistling noises, flashes of light, and thoroughly enchanting faerie types floated, skittered, and danced about. In all her years, this particular dream would be the first of Tinker Bell proportions. Yet at the same time, she felt completely at home in this new mysterious faerie world. As if she was simply returning to a former home. Then she segued into a jig jagged universe where up was down, in was out, and language was not spoken but broadcast in massive multi-colored letters scattered about and competing for space, a literal battle of words. And blasting like a meteor through this otherwise jiggety jaggedy world her footless sneakers, screeching, squealing and...laughing? heading toward she knew not where but definitely away from her grasping little hands. "Come back, friends, come back to meeeeeeee....." Finally, confused euphoria turned nightmare, she trickled with terror as she found herself flat on her back staring straight up at the creepy house next door.

She woke with a start, having in her dream mixed-up mind three distinct and entirely unrelated thoughts: faerie worlds, her airborne sneakers and the creepy seemingly abandoned house next door.

Out of bed she popped as sprung from a toaster, full of energy and wild eyed resolution. Making quickly for the house next door she was sure she glimpsed in her peripheral vision a flutter of faerie by her side sliding along atop her sneakers as if on massive toboggans, bouncing and giggling and leading the way to her now most important destination. And in a blink, they vanished through the side of the house with a gleeful howl.

Seriously? she thought. I wake up to a crazy kinda cat and mouse hide-n-seek?

The front door of this ginormous house she would not use. Suddenly cast as the cat in this wacky chase, she needed the element of surprise, something a tad more hidden.

Knowing that houses in this town had basements, she went around back looking for a service door entry. Right away she noticed a rusted fence. At least it had a gate. She lifted the latch and pushed open the painfully squeaky gate. Wow, she thought as she looked around her, leaving the grass untended for so long had totally turned this backyard into untamed savannah! Moving slowly and carefully through this weirdly foreign landscape, she knew she was exterminating entire insect families with her large stomping feet. She suppressed an urge to run screaming "I'm sorry" before she killed entire generations of small critters.

Too late. Her foot caught on something as she tripped and landed on her face.

"OWWW!" she screamed, "What the @!#@#%$@#!!"

The words she screamed are too foul to note and not contained in places of good taste although quite plentiful in sailor's pubs and dark alleyways. Let's just say she was very upset. The cellar door however, was laughing like a pack of hyenas, "tripping human over door" being its favorite prank. Jaynie did hear a distant sort of laughter but ignored it, thinking it was just her over aggravated imagination and door slammed face.

When she had come to her senses and stopped cussing like a swarthy sailor, she trained her eyes down to her feet to see what had upset her balance so. "AAHHH! The cellar door in the ground. How clever!" She looked accusingly at the door.

It wisely remained mum.

"Okay then. Down and away."

With these words she reached down and grasped the large black handle that stuck out of the ground. She pulled and pulled but the door would not budge. The irrepressible door, at this point, supplied the grunts and groans to accompany her efforts. They so mingled with her own that they went unnoticed.

"Wow. This is a heavy door."

There are ways to do anything, she knew, so she must be creative and think. Flying balloons, intensely strong and friendly Tyrannosaurs, husky, smelly but helpful cavemen, toothless grizzly bears, and an assortment of the oddest helpful critters she could manage, all unfortunately not present. She even looked once more accusingly at the door, "Well, you could help you know?"

The door winked flirtatiously but she was not skilled in the art of Door Divination.

As she was thinking about not knowing certain things that might in fact be good to know, a stranger walked over and said, "Hey. Whatcha doin'?"

Her sudden shock quickly turned to easy conversation as pictures of revolving and oddly alluring doors squeaked through her mind.

"Oh. Me. Umm...well, I'm kinda like tryin' to get this door open, ya know. And uh, well, ya know, I kinda like can't do it cuz it's too heavy."

"Well," the stranger said, "Good thing I came along then. My name is Leo Gabalot. People call me the 'fixit guy.' If it needs fixin', I'm the guy to call."

Leo bent down and looked at the handle. "Hmm. Let's see," he said tugging at it.

"Well. It surely is HEAVY."

"Is that a big problem?" asked Jaynie.

"No. Not a big problem Just a problem But all problems have solutions. Just call me the 'solution guy'."

Now Jaynie was confused. "Wait a minute. Didn't you just like say that people call you the 'fixit guy'?"

"Yep," he said, "That's right. But I'm also called the solution guy. People just call me the 'fixit guy' cuz it's easier to say. But on my card," he handed her a card, "It says Leo Gabalot, SOLUTION GUY. So see, it's all the same to me."

"Okay Leo. Whatever. Can you open the door then?"

"Boy howdy, yes m'am. People call me ..."

"I know," she said tiring of this game, the 'fixit guy.'"

"Righto!"

Leo was the kind of person who liked to talk and talk. Mostly he talked when he had something important he wished to convey to those around him. But today, he talked to Jaynie not only for that reason. Today he talked in a nonstop spiel because of her. From the second he saw her sitting there, her bright red curls falling about her narrow feminine shoulders, he felt a weird tingling running up and down his spine. When he finally talked to her and saw her face, he felt as if he was falling into her emerald green eyes and knew that something magical was happening. He had no idea who she was, and no idea where she came from. He only knew that he wished to be near her. But right now, he was as nervous as a field mouse in a hawk's nest. And he wasn't sure if he was excited or scared. Best he could say he was ambivalent, which means he didn't know.

When he opened the door using a large branch as leverage tool, a freezing froth of pestilential air rushed out of the ground. The power of the fumes was so strong it knocked him over and he hit his head on a stone.

He floated up from the ground and around the house, looking down and around the neighborhoods then out and around the town. He could see things no one except birds should see. How exciting this was! And as he floated and flew he sailed near a window on a two-story dwelling with pink shutters and triangular windows. Outside was a clothesline with blue and yellow ropes strung between red and white striped poles. Such an odd house was this he had no idea what to think until he floated nearer to a window and saw Jaynie, standing naked in front of a mirror.... A powerful surge of energy shot up through his chest that blew him over the roof and dropped him to the ground. When he felt himself land on his back he opened his eyes and saw Jaynie standing over him, her red curls caressing her rosy cheeks.

"You okay, Leo?"

He shook his head to regain his bearings. Allrighty then, he thought, must have been unconscious.

"Yep. Okay now. Let's get back to this here...um... door business" as receding visions of naked Jaynie fled from his mind.

In the wandering black and viscous core of Earth's enigmatic moves through the time warp continuum, there have been many mysterious passages that have yet to be unveiled and understood by the greatest egghead scientific minds of the potato head realms. Among those mysteries none among them could perhaps compare with the one now unfolding before the eyes of one Leo Gabalot and Jaynie Morrison. As the massive, gargantuan, large, and spiny skinned door swung back and opened fully, it was a world of ancient tombs and wisdoms that breathed anew into this day in the twenty first century. Leo was no genius; in fact he was no more than three gnat steps removed from moronic. But he knew when things had got too scary for him to consider pursuing.

"Uhh...whatever your name is?" uh, naked naked naked naked, "It looks kind of SCARY in there. Maybe you want to go in first?"

Jaynie had her faults, but she was no chickenshit. "Okay, Leo. First off, my name is unimportant. Second, Mr. Solution, isn't daring and undaunted ability to rescue fair maidens part of your job description?" squinting, eyeing and appraising him as a pawnbroker might. "And besides that, speaking to you in this way has caused me to lapse into a language of formality of which I am totally unaccustomed. You will pay doubly for that: CHICKENSHIT!!!" monster sized chicken squawks bursting forth from her poultry lovin' mouth.

Leo heard her loud as Rhino rumble and understood. But no one called him chickenshit without him accepting the gauntlet.

"Allrighty then. Let's go. I'll lead."

*****

Big appendages, such as toes, can be the premonitory signs of great things to come. Everyone understood this time-tested illogical superstition. The leaves of grass knew it. The Iceman while he cometh knew it. Everyone it seemed beside the person who needed to know it most: Jaynie.

As far as she was concerned, being cursed with her big toes was nothing short of heinous. How was a person to buy sneakers? As it was she was forced to wear triple E sizes at a size larger than she would have to wear normally. And that was at the heart of the matter: normal. From her earliest recollections all she had ever wanted to be was normal. Even during her I'm-so-bored-I- could-blow-up-a-restroom days, all she was intending to say by way of demonstration was, "What does it take to be normal??"

Perhaps her methods were lacking a certain cultural grace, refinement, informed perspective. But what could be offered in defense of such claims? She can tell you herself, so let's allow her to:

"I'm not normal, that's why!!!"

See...told ya. Incorrigible to the core, Jaynie had her mind well made up about her fate before she knew she could accomplish such a feat as making her mind well up about her fate. She had been unkindly given to understand that abnormality would be her sole claim and ownership throughout her life. Furthermore, she was certain that God's unending sense of humor and irony would grant her longevity unlike any other who had come before, even outlasting Methuselah if that would increase the laughter quotient of this farcical parable called: Life of Jaynie.

Yes, Jaynie was not a happy camper. Something to do with the fact that as a child she had never gone camping, and didn't even know what a campfire looked like, except through pictures.

In a sense, one could say she was the great Asphalt Explorer. And perhaps this is precisely why the skateboard held such magical sway with her.

Now without getting into a philosophical and/or psychological deconstruction on this subject, let it simply be established that the subject female, Jaynie, had a disproportionate penchant for the inherent appeal of skateboarding and leave it at that, okay?

Little kids called her Bigfoot. Adults called her Baby Sasquatch (when she was out of earshot). At one time she fantasized that this generalized fame she had been accruing could someday catapult her into the famous streets of Hollywood, increase her taste for Chinese food, plant her prolific peds smack square in the center of one of those big ol' slabs they reserve for the truly spectacular and gifted among us. But then Grim Reality kicked in and she was heartbroken as redemption faded into the gloomy mist, reticent, saddened, wiping its teary eyes as Grim Reality broke the news, over its shoulder (it couldn't bear to see her cry anymore).

"Sorry," it said. "They don't make slabs BIG ENOUGH for your feet!!"

At that point redemption slipped away, while Grim Reality, knowing it had made its point, felt like a lousy piece of rat excrement for having this horrible assignment.

Why couldn't it have drawn the Tooth Fairy post?

Too bad the universal powers encouraged nepotism, otherwise Grim Reality would have got the assignment as the reigning princess of the stardust skies, would have been the best Tooth Fairy ever recorded. But that's not the way it turned out folks. Grim Reality has its job, Jaynie has hers, and your vigilant author has his too. And it is this author's duty to inform you that on the fateful day Grim Reality was put to the task of informing cherub faced Jaynie about her less than favorable odds of getting her feet slathered in the ceremonially regal cement of Hollywood's elite, it crawled away so broken that it was reassigned to another post, while a rotund, vile and pig-faced brat of a nephew who never liked humans anyway was given the suddenly vacant assignment of Grim Reality.

Nepotism has its rewards.

*****

Trying to make amends for his earlier stray onto Chickenshit Island, Leo boldly went where he believed no homo sapiens had gone before. The dark maw of the waiting cellar yawned and belched and fumed its pestilential breath in thick poisonous waves, prickling the skin on his bones, and whipping the hairdo back on his head. But he was committed to regain his former esteem in the eyes of this fair maiden.

He moved in stealth, he thought, and stepped lightly upon the rough concrete steps. As he moved into the dark and dank realm, sounds began to emanate from the darkness.

"Uhhh...exactly who or what lives in this place we're going?" asked Leo, nervously rubbing his chin.

"Been empty for like ever," said Jaynie. "Why?"

"Because I'm hearin' strange sounds a-comin' from the cellar."

"Oh. Scared?"

Leo quickly refigured his stance. "No, no, course not. I'm just sayin.'"

He moved sturdily and stealthily, remembering to himself the tales of King Arthur's Court, swashbuckling pirates, broad shouldered heroes of old who had conquered worse fears than ambiguous and enigmatic cellars. But inside his shriveling-self he felt the pusillanimous pincers of paranoia converge into a sharply honed point of panic that refused relenting. He knew however that he must continue onward if he wished to win the fair maiden's hand. So he continued.

His foot hit a solid something and he cried, "Ouch!!"

Still he pushed onward into the fray. Reaching out to his right, he felt the swarming tapestries of years of neglected spring cleanings and pulled away a furled flob of spider web. Surely wolf spiders lived within these walls. One certainty is better than none. Then he tripped on another something.

"Ouch, ouch, and triple ouch," he said.

When he stood up, he saw through the daunting dark a shaft of light pulsing through a cleavage in yonder wall.

"Hey. Light!"

Now he pushed forward with renewed vigor, Jaynie holding up the rear, and to their conjoined sight wonders akin to that of King Tut's Tomb began to materialize.

"Wow. Look at all this STUFF!"

Massive crates and farm implements, a whiskey still, blacksmithing tools, medieval weaponry, a Ford Model-A, jugs and barrels and bottles of every size, shape, and color lining the walls and shelves. This was a case of hoarding gone wild, and issuing from the gloom the god-awful stench of creatures not long dead. Maybe rats.

"Do you like smell that yucky smell?" asked Jaynie.

"Yeah. Smells like dead rats to me."

"Well, so long as they're dead that's okay."

"Sure you wanna keep goin'?"

"Definitely. I need my sneakers."

"Sneakers?"

"Hello? See my tender tootsies?"

Leo glanced quickly, wishing to keep his mind focused on the task at hand.

Jaynie at this point, unshod as she was, tiptoed tentatively around the musty gloom of unvisited years, resolving she would not leave this place without that for which she had come: her sneakers.

A large ornately decorated chest, however, drew Leo's attention.

"Look at this. This looks like somethin' really ancient, like somethin' from and old galleon, maybe a 15th century merchant ship or warship or pirate ship! I wonder what's inside."

"I don't. Can't we just keep moving?"

Leo seized at redemption. "You're the adventurous type, right? There could be who knows WHAT inside this chest: a treasure, or a treasure map, or somethin' else really valuable and redeemable for cool crunchy green. But of course, less you're not feelin' adventurous or have an excess of money..."

Jaynie considered that Leo was simply attempting to recruit company on Chickenshit Island. But curiosity and she were well acquainted.

"Okay. Let's look."

The lid was closed but not locked. Leo flipped open the rusty latch and swung the lid open.

In the annals of folklore and magicdom, there are shining Scheherazade tales of ancient chests, urns, jugs, lamps, and all manner of container that held within their deep or diminutive spaces something beyond the calculations and conditions of mortal understanding. Whatever aroma is associated with that great yawn of ancient magic is the scent that blasted forth from the opening of this chest. Dust and glittering molecules shot into the air around them, swirling and materializing into something as yet indefinable, a wailing breath borne of miseries and miracles past, eyes, voices, wiggling hands and feet, a party of faeries, etcetera, etcetera, sitting, standing, and swinging from glowing orbs, colorful as color itself, spinning and collecting into a finely tuned embracing whirlpool, pulling and tugging at the two open-mouthed humans who were silent and still in awe and wonder, with just a smidge of fear thrown in for good measure.

For a moment Leo and Jaynie felt as if they would be lifted off the ground in the swirling crescendo. But that did not happen. The ornate and mysterious chest lifted from the ground before their mesmerized expressions, hovered three-feet in the air, and spun one complete revolution before setting down firmly with a resounding, "KERTHWUNK!"

Leo was stunned into the recognition that a grand historical moment was upon them.

"I am stunned into the recognition that a grand historical moment is upon us," said Leo.

Little voices whispered and giggled in Jaynie's ears. These she heard. She also felt the hair on the back of her neck stand up as something tickled under her chin. Jaynie gave no reply; she was stunned speechless.

Someone stunned speechless in his presence was something Leo Gabalot had become flat face accustomed to. Most reacted to him in this way. Some would say it was his particular brand of verbosity that left no room for superfluous and interjectory speech. Others would say that he was simply over Koalafied. This is the description Leo himself coined to address his peculiar style. And given to his over Koalafied state he found that it was to his best interest to go with the avalanching tides where they may take him and join the roving band of his lineage. As a result of this belching of the nocturnal soul Leo had taken to living in Eucalyptus trees. This quest had begun when he first stepped into the lobby of the Chrysler Building. At the precise moment he entered the vacuous space he felt like a Celtic giant flinging a stone into the Irish Sea.

But instead of the stone becoming the Isle of Man or the lesser-acclaimed Calf of Man, it became for him a transcendent vision of Eucalyptus trees.

"Trees are life; life is trees. As man destroys trees, he destroys life. I owe it to my entire Koala heritage to seize the tree!"

And this he did. While living in trees and prowling nocturnal did pose difficulties, Leo recognized none of them. He was given to that insane brand of lunacy called "optimism."

Opportunities sprouted around him like dogberry weeds in a turnip patch. With his opportunity-tuned antennae at full tilt he now spied another in his ever-increasing collection of "Opportunity Moments."

"Jaynie," he said. "Some would look at this dusty, crusty, age decrepit chest before us and see the mirror of historical pain. Not me. Not only did I just witness this here chest fly up off the ground and come crashing down all on its ownsome, I now believe that within this magical chest lay great opportunities awaitin' discovery."

"How did you know my name?" she asked.

"You got it embroidered on the backside of your britches."

Jaynie had forgotten about her personalized embroidery. "Oh, I see. And why are you looking there?"

Leo smiled a smirksome smile. "Why not?"

Such irrefutable logic was beyond refuting, so Leo proceeded to dig into the now exposed chest of great opportunities awaiting discovery. What he found was dust, more dust, and even more mummified dust. But within that dusty ancientness a blind nematode of squidtastic proportions grabbed his Koala eyelids and reeled them open like a retractable shutter.

"Wahoo! What's this?"

He reached inside the chest and pulled away a thick stack of papers.

He turned to Jaynie. "This here big ol' chest of yours is—"

"Hey! Now where are you looking?" She crossed her arms in front of her to avert any wayward eyes. These miracles of nature were things she was still getting used to, embarrassing still, though she realized their inherent draw for the male animals otherwise called "boys." Not that she really minded being lustfully assayed; she just preferred to be the one leading the way.

"I'm not referrin' to those commendable tatas upon your person; what I'm talkin' 'bout is this greatly ancient and dusty chest before us. This stack of papers inside it has a kinda strange thang goin'on. Somethin' familiar 'bout this here picture..."

Jaynie looked now at the papers. Among a tidal wave of hieroglyphic scribbles was a picture of a woman, a beautiful curly haired woman, a woman unshod, dancing, a woman with big toes...just like hers!"

Her defenses came rushing to her face for battle. "Okay. I love skateboards and I have big toes. So what? Any woman with big toes then must somehow be related to me?"

Where women were concerned Leo was often as dense as compressed stone. But he realized immediately by her reaction that he was treading on a rocky land where heavily armed militant angels feared to tread.

"No, no. Not that. Her face. It's a spittoon image of you!"

Sure enough the face did bear a striking resemblance. Something foul was afoot.

In a world where two rights don't make a wrong and two wrongs don't make a right, it was difficult for Jaynie to decide what was left. True, the massive chest before them was old and decrepit and contained within it some papers, one of them bearing a picture of a woman who bore a striking resemblance to her. Could this be her mother? Why that popped into her head she did not know, but being a believer in "Nothing Happens by Coincidence" she began to peel back the rusted tins of her memory to see if anything clanked. Among the clinking, clanking, caliginous ruins of memories, a faint image began to stir, subtly, but refusing to be ignored. Something was rather familiar about this cellar. Had she been here before? Perhaps in childhood?

Her childhood had much in common with the gypsy ways of her father. Moving from place to place from house to trailer park was their combined path for many years. And after many years of this kind of nomadic travel she wound up here, in Dumas, New York. As a child she had entertained a great affinity for digging through the cellars wherever she found herself staying. Always searching, searching, for what she didn't know. Maybe these papers held some answers?

"It does look kinda like me Leo, okay? But right now I'm like very confused. I'm a girl who rides skateboards so I have abnormally large toes. This does not like make me feel sexy or even attractive. It makes me..."

"Huh?"

"Okay, so I may not be as funny or as talented as other people, and sure, people might say I'm shallow, predictable, stuck-up, boring and have no personality, but like, who cares what those freaks think anyway, right?"

She wiped away a slow forming tear.

Leo was dense but he wasn't ignorant. He heard the loud crash-slam-knock-knock of opportunity. "Listen, Jaynie. A golden monkey is sexy; a Kangaroo is sexier. A girl who is funny is sexy; a girl who rides skateboards is sexier. I find you very sexy, Jaynie, despite what you call your abnormally large toes. Seem kinda perfect to me. And I don't think you're boring. So I think..."

*****

A new moon leads me to woods of dreams, and I follow. A new world waits for me... - Enya

While Leo waxed philosophical on the turn his life seemed to be taking, Jaynie walked around. Layers of dust and dirt were everywhere as if this cellar had not been visited for one hundred years. Yet still she had a feeling that she had been her before, and not too long ago. Ruffling through the catalogue of her mental pages she had a flash: "Isn't there a door to a wine cellar right over...THERE!"

Sure enough, there was a door directly where she had predicted. Now the weirdness was reaching a zenith of weird. She went back to tell Leo, but he was wide-eyed staring into the magical chest.

"Uh, Jaynie?" he shouted into the void, a distinct quaver in his voice, "I think you'd better come over here and have a look see."

She moved quickly to him to have a look see.

"I don't remember us shuttin' the lid of this chest. But when I walked up to it the lid flipped open and thissere picture stood up in the chest. Scared the bejesus outta me! Now I don't know much of nuthin' but somethin' very weird is happenin' here."

Jaynie thought she had the market cornered on weird when the business with the door happened. Now she realized that there was more brewing. She looked at the picture and felt a swoon coming on. It was another picture, a picture of a beautiful, curly haired woman, who looked one heck of a lot like her, undeniably like her, but this woman was not dancing, this was a close-up head shot, with a swirly feminine inscription at the bottom: "To my daughter, Princess Jaynie!"

"Omigod, Omigod, I don't believe it. My mother! I've never seen this picture before, never. Omigod, Omigod..."

Jaynie kept "Omigod-ing" away until Leo understood he needed to pull the flip lever and set this train on a new track. As Jaynie wiggled she jiggled and as she jiggled she wiggled, and in all of the wiggling and jiggling the picture bristled and bustled in her hands as if seized with the shakes. Leo, ever astute and alert to wiggling, was ever attentive to this performance, yet within his libidinous attention a tangential oddity caught his eye.

He snatched the picture from her hands. "Well looky here," he said, "there's more stuff writ on the back."

Sure enough, beautifully scribed across the picture's back, in the same swirly feminine hand, a note, premonition, cautionary manifestation of sorts:

"Everything exists, everything is true, and the earth is just a little dust under our feet."

This toppled the precariously tilted applecart and Jaynie hit overload. "Omigod. Omigod. What does that MEAN?!"

"Heck if I know," said Leo, rubbing his chin.

"Okay. I'm like totally freaked out. We gotta go, WE GOTTA GO!"

In a split second of terrestrial panic, the primary objective of rescuing her sneakers was forgotten, a new primary objective taking its place; rescue ME!

They gathered themselves up as quickly as panic driven adrenaline rush would allow and Jaynie raced through the dark; tripping, cussing, but ever moving toward the skyward hatch that lead to escape. Leo kept up as best he could, evidently lacking the instinctual dead reckoning of his partner, and fell flat at each trip, cussed louder each time, but moved continually—even if at a maimed snail's pace—toward the escape hatch.

All around them progressed at an accelerated pace before they reached their aboveground point of departure. Now, they lay back on the grass as they attempted to regain composure. Leo reflected on the voluptuous changes he had undergone since meeting Jaynie, pondered the significance of actuated juju, and wondered how his rejecting ex-girlfriend would feel to know he was capable of getting the attentions of one so fine as Jaynie.

While Jaynie, deeply affected as she was by the blossoming aspects of her day, discovered to her surprise that her prior two dimensional world held an element of third dimensional wonder she would have never before thought possible. That which appears only like a thin and silvery cloud streaking the heaven is in effect composed of innumerable clusters of suns, each shining with its own light and illuminating numbers of planets that revolve around them. And now, as in a swirl of an alien orbit, Jaynie had entered a realm of magical interlude that defied her understanding. Upon her entrance into the enchanted cellar, a magic engendered by the sparkling particles emitted from the mysterious chest had touched her world.

The Collywobbles notwithstanding, the die had been cast. But meanwhile, Jaynie has a lot to figure out about the wheels that have been set in motion unbeknownst to her. Patience, perseverance, and patience are needed.

Of much she was still unsure, but of one thing she was certain: she must talk to her father and get some answers.

*****

Her father was sitting by the fireplace in his favorite chair. That's where he sat when he wanted to relax. He also liked to smoke a skinny cigar while he sat there. As Jaynie watched him from across the room she thought he looked sad about something. Maybe he was thinking about mother like Jaynie was. Whatever. She had to make her move.

She stepped right up to him.

"Hey daddy."

Her father looked surprised to see her. "Oh, hello honey."

"Daddy, I've been thinking about mom. I miss her like a whole lot and I want to find her."

She was hoping the injection of the "Daddy" descriptor to be her I'm-so-small-and-cute-don't-you-want- to-help-me trump card. Kind of like a get out of jail free card.

"I understand entirely, honey."

"Oh, and that house next door?' I was exploring around the back of it and I ended up in the basement of that house and I found this big chest with a picture of momma in it and all sorts of stuff and I could swear, I don't know how, but I could just swear I'd been in that basement before."

Her father stared at her with his eyes so big and stretched it seemed they might burst.

"Well of course you've been there, darlin'. That there house is where we was livin' when your momma was with us. But after she done vanished and such I just had to get away from that place, too many memories or 'ghosts' as I knowed 'em."

Sometimes when her father explained things to her he had a way of saying them that made what he was explaining clear as a Kentucky sky. Then other times, like now for instance, he yammered in a mish mash of Tennessee two-step that made things clear as Mississippi mud.

"Wait a minute, dad," she said, reverting now to dad instead of daddy because she was getting fumed. "You're telling me you had to get away from the memories or 'ghosts' of that house so you had to move. Right? But you only moved next house over. Doesn't that seem like maybe you didn't get far enough for a real get away?"

He puffed on his cigar, rocking back and forth in his chair, as a smile slowly crept across his face.

"Yup. You got me, girly. Guilty as a henhouse weasel. I guess I needed gettin' away but I just couldn't bring m'self to get TOO far away. So...here we are."

"So then you KNEW about the basement and the pirate chest and the pictures and the everything else then, right?"

This time he just nodded his head figuring that said all he needed to say.

"Good. Then maybe you'll tell me some things about her."

He looked concerned then took a deep puff of his cigar. "Okay. I'll try my best."

Jaynie was trying to build up slowly to ask him the difficult question. The question of what he knew about her disappearance.

"When was the last time you saw her?"

"Oh, 'bout, uh let's see, you're almost seventeen now, right?

Jaynie was already on a short fuse and being asked her age by her father was pushing it.

"Uh, totally! Like, don't you know how old I am?"

Her father shook his head like he had water lodged in his ears, shaking his head from side to side with his mouth hanging open.

"'Course you are then," he said, continuing as if he had intended to fumble accidentally on purpose. "So then that would make it about thirteen years since I, since WE, last saw her. She looked especially beautiful that day, your mother Ana."

"Were you and her doing something special that day?"

"Well...let me think on that." Pause, pause, tick, tick, beard scratch, another beard scratch, slow as a dial-up modem. "No, not that I recall. But then you're momma was always the busy one. Always running here and there tendin' to something or other. I tell you she was a regular firestorm!"

"So was she _tendin_ ' to anything in particular that day?"

Her father's eyes went all misty like you get when you're thinking of something sad. Then he ran his hand through his beard.

"You know, you just bring me to think of somethin' I durned forgot. She was tendin' to the ragweed patch in the corner of the yard. Said it needed tendin' so her faërie friends had a place to stay."

Now Jaynie thought her father was joking with her. "No daddy, this is serious. I really want to know," she said.

Jaynie's father scooted forward in his chair and put his hands on his knees. "Sit down here, honey. There's somethin' needs tellin' and I 'spect you're old enough to hear it."

A little tingle of excitement mixed with fear ran through her. What could he want to tell me now that I'm _old enough_?

"Honey, to put it plain and simple, you're mother is a faërie. A real honest to goodness Faërie Queen. Like with wings and such and magical powers. But she didn't always look like a faërie, like with her wings about and such. A faërie has a way of makin' them invisible."

Now Jaynie was sure he was playing. "Oh come on, dad. You expect me to believe that mom is a faërie?" She recollected that in the picture of her mother she had found her mother addressed her as Princess Jaynie. And there _was_ that levitating chest moment but that could have been a trick.

"Yes I do 'cause it _is_ the truth, sure as I'm sittin' here. And you know I'd of never known it if she hadn't told me. That's how well a faërie can keep it hid."

"This can't be true, it can't! Faërie are tiny little things no bigger than my thumb. How could a faërie be my mother?"

"You know, there's a whole lot 'bout faërie I still don't know, I reckon. But I tell you this, a faërie can change size and shape as they please. Heck, when I met your momma she looked as perty and normal as any folk. It was quite some time before I knew her faërie self."

Jaynie's father loved to play tricks on her and she was suspicious this was one of them. But the way he talked so calm and tender made her think different. He didn't have that sparkle in his eyes like he did when he was foolin' her. Still, she couldn't believe it.

"So what you're saying," said Jaynie, "is that my mother is a faërie and that's that. Well, if that's true, then why is she missing instead of coming home? Does that mean she doesn't want to come home?"

"Well honey, that's the mystery of it," said her father, shaking his head. "She has her magic and she can be most anywhere she wants just by sayin' her magic spells and all. But her bein' gone missin' could only mean one thing; somebody or something is stopping her."

Now Jaynie was really scared her eyes got teary and she was shaking like a leaf. "Oh daddy! That's horrible. I don't believe it, I can't believe it, I don't want to! It's...It's..."

This was indeed the most horrible news Jaynie could ever hear. Not only was her mom missing, but now she finds out that somebody is keeping her from coming back home.

"Why haven't you looked for her, daddy? Why haven't you...?

Then Jaynie fell apart, sitting down and crying into her hands. Her father got up and sat next to her and put his arms around her. Jaynie snuggled into him when he did this.

"I'm sorry, honey, I really am," said the father. "But I did look. Looked like crazy until I just had to stop. The sadness was breaking me down. Then I remembered something you're momma told me, 'Look to the moon and your heart will sing to me. Then I will always know where you are.' So I did like she told me. Not once but many times. When she didn't come back I figured she could hear me but couldn't come back."

"What if she's...uh...?" Jaynie was thinking the D-word and started howling like a baby.

Fourteen years, fourteen friggin' years. Her mother had been gone all this time and she and her father carried on regardless as if mother and wife never were. Jaynie found it easy to do as she was just a tumbling toddler when this beautiful, loving woman disappeared from her world. So far in the past it was that it seemed like a dream. Then suddenly thirteen years later, she pops the million-dollar question and she's walloped with a billion dollar answer. Now, she is all for getting her hands on some green but this kind of green was as friendly as a Komodo Dragon.

It took some time before she had calmed down enough for her father to talk to her. He squeezed her to him.

"Honey, there's a crystal pendant you're momma used to wear, what she calls the "Rainbow Spar." That crystal glows the beautiful colors of the rainbow, like a prism. It hangs on the mirror in our room. It's a faërie charm connected with her and her alone. She told me if she was ever gone and that light went out then she had come to a bad end. But as long as it stayed lit, she was alive somewhere. That light has never to this day gone out. That's the only thing that keeps me hopeful."

"Did she always wear it?"

"Oh yes. She was connected to it like it was a part of her body."

"Why did she take it off then?"

"I don't know."

"Didn't you think it kinda strange that she suddenly took off this piece of jewelry she always wore?"

"No. Can't say I did."

"I think she knew she may not be coming back."

"Why do you say that, honey?"

"Well, she leaves the pendant she always wore, the thing that tells you if she's okay, then she goes out and disappears. I don't think that's a coincidence."

Now Jaynie's father's eyes went all cross-eyed and he looked like someone had punched him in the head. "I never thought of it that way. But by golly, you're right! She musta knew she wasn't coming back."

"Can't the police do anything?"

"Oh, you know sure as Shiloh I done gone to the po-lice. But the po done told me she'd most likely turn up on her own. Them dang ol' po wouldn't even let me file a missing persons report, said a person needed to be missing 7 years before the po considered it a missing person. Do you believe such a thing? Well, that was that for the po. Didn't have me no money to hire me one of them Private Detective type fellers, neither. So was just me and your Aunt Malinda with not a penny 'tween us lookin' and thinkin' and scratchin' our heads till we couldn't take it no more."

"How about me? I could be the Private Detective guy...or girl."

"Oh, honey. What would you do? What could you do? I mean, you're just a kid."

Jaynie thought about that only one second then had an idea. "That's right, I'm a kid. But not just a kid, I'm a kid who misses her momma a whole lot and won't stop until she finds her."

Her father's eyes lit up with excitement. "You know, maybe that's what this case needs, a kid's perspective like. I bet you could find out all kinds of things just account a yer never give up attitude! But it fears me some, honey, the world is an ugly place and yer my little girl."

"Don't worry, daddy. I can do most of my searching from home. The Internet is a place where you can find most anything. I've got pretty good at finding stuff."

"That's the kind of thing that worries me honey, the things that you can find and the things that can find you!"

"But you agree we have to try something we haven't tried before, right? Trust me. I promise, I'll be as safe as houses."

"Safe as houses? Where'd you pick up a sayin' like that?"

"From you, daddy. Where else?"

*****

Jaynie was excited to get going in her detective role and start her search. She didn't have any idea of what to search for except maybe words associated with faërie and magic and whatever else she happened to think of at the time. Of course she would love to simply type in, "Where's my Mother," but she knew it wouldn't be that easy. Still, she had to start somewhere.

As she keyed in the first words of the series of fairies and magic and charms, she felt a tingle run through her fingers and up her arms. It felt like the time she had touched a bare power cord. The room suddenly went fuzzy. Circles the colors of the rainbow began dancing around in front of her eyes. Is this what it feels like to die? she thought.

Her hearing seemed to be pulsing with little high-pitched whistling sounds and low pitched booming sounds. She put her hand to her forehead to check her temperature. Then she heard a high-pitched male voice singing:

Worlds beyond the Boyne and Tay

Goes Mad Looney day to day

If ye stumbles

If ye fall

'Tis Mad Looney that ye call.

Jaynie stopped checking her temperature with a startle as she spun around in her chair to look around her. The tune sounded familiar, like something she'd heard many years ago. Surely she was imagining things, mind all caught up in thoughts of faërie and magic and stuff. She turned back to her keyboard and pressed Enter to send her request across the Internet. All at once she received a bright blue screen with glistening gold writing across it: MAD LOONEY, AT YOUR SERVICE! Now she was scared! She dropped off her seat and scampered down underneath the desk. She pulled her knees to her chin and wrapped her arms around them. Sitting in this far corner will be safe, she thought, I'm almost invisible. She hoped that staying compressed this way, under the desk and out of sight would help her to hide from whatever appeared to be trying to reach her. She was safe, yes she was.

An odd looking tiny man with flaming red hair and long nose came floating by the front of the desk at eye level. He stopped and hovered right in front of her:

"Mad Looney here, m'dear. Pleased to be of service!"

Jaynie's eyes went wide in horror. Then she quickly snapped them shut and rubbed them, "This is just a dream, just a dream. When I open my eyes he'll be gone."

She hummed a song, a little fragile song of tender days and tender ways and childhood joys and fuzzy kitties and roly-poly puppies and was sure the tune she spun would do the trick and end the hallucination that seemed too real to be unreal. No matter how much she thought she was in control of herself her body had plans of its own as the arctic shivers ran from her head to her toes near turning her toenails blue. I'm scared, I'm scared, I am so totally scared, she thought. C'mon, c'mon, be gone little freak! She slowly opened her eyes, slowly splitting her fingers apart in front of her eyes letting in just a sliver of light at a time. Empty space straight ahead. Good! He was gone he was gone it was just a nasty hallucination after all. Ya ha! She was ready to do a celebration dance. Everything had gone back to normal, oh yeah!

Sorry, but no. He was still there, off to the side a bit, but closer. "Okay illusion, you can just go away now," she said, waving her hand across like she was batting at flies, "Bye bye!"

"Well now. That's a fine how do ya do, me darlin'. I know what they think of me, but they still need Mad Looney."

A word, a question popped into Jaynie's mind but her mind still suffering from shock was little help; the word or question vanished. Her mind became a blank canvas. But she was all out of pen or paint. Shaking her head in disbelief, sure she was dreaming, she grabbed a piece of skin on the inside of her arm to pinch herself: PINCH!

"Ouch," she screamed in amazement that she pinched herself so hard.

Mad Looney recoiled. "My my, and they call me mad."

Now she was surely awake. "Uh...hello Mr...uhm..."

"Mad Looney, it is. Simple charm. A Mister aught, a title for naught."

"Okay, Mad Looney. Why are you here?"

Mad Looney fixed a gaze on her with sad sparkling eyes. He shook his head. "Why am I here, she says me. A philosophical wit is she. Tryin' to vex old Mad Looney. Well then, let me raggle it. You put some words into your boxy machine, mashed some buttons I s'pose, then yer words come to me by the Galaxy Highway and into my ears. So, unless it's a philosophical _meaning of life_ sort of rot you're posin', I'm here 'cause you called me."

"I called you?"

"You called me."

"I called you?"

"Aye, a bit of fun this lassie wants. You called me."

"Uhh, like..."

"No, me darlin.' You say, 'I called you?' The proper response keeps the game in play."

This creature is definitely nuts! thought Jaynie.

"Okay, look Mad Looney or whatever," Jaynie snapped, "If I called you I'm sorry but I didn't mean to. I was just trying to get some information from the Internet. I just—"

"Aye, this Internet of yours. Now that folks can call me anytime they call me all the time. Galaxy Highway wasn't enough, was it? Not complainin' mind. Just pointing to my plight. Much like that of me sainted cousin, Sir William McGonagall, proud knight of the white elephant, Burmha. Aye. Now, back to you. What 'tis it ya want?"

The wheels in Jaynie's brain finally woke up and started spinning. She was looking for

information about magic and fairies for a reason. The reason being finding her mother. Then this tiny floating crazy guy starts singing and sending me messages on the computer screen. This is definitely not a MySpace moment. So, since he seems to be magic, maybe I did call him. Though I don't know how. But this is kinda scary. Calm down, calm down. Okay. You're a detective now remember? Fearless is the code word.

"Okay, maybe I did call you but—"

"You did."

"Okay. If I did—"

"You did."

"Aargh! You won't let me finish what I'm saying. You are so annoying."

"Been called worse."

"Okay. I'm trying to find my mother who—"

"...disappeared thirteen years ago, she's a faërie, you're a faërie. Lots of good folk are faërie..."

"What? Jaynie shouted louder than she wanted to, "How did you—"

"I know all these things. Truth be told, most of Faërieland does. Just like we know that you're the princess and your mother is the queen."

Jaynie's head went all swimmy and made her stomach feel like it was floating up her throat. "I'm a princess? My mother's a queen?"

Her father had just told her the same thing and now here was this little floating freak telling her the same.

"Oh, not just any queen, m'darlin'. THE queen. The queen of all faërie, Queen Anahit."

Oh no. I knew this was a dream, Jaynie thought. No wait, it's a nightmare and he's some evil little freak sent to scare me.

"No, yours is no nightmare," said Mad Looney in a sharp criticizing tone. "And I am most certainly not a freak. What is a nightmare is trying to explain to a lunkhead human child the things she should have already learned in school. Y'ever tend to yer studies? Ever hear of Queen Anahit?"

Jaynie scowled and gave him the stinkeye. "Yeah, I've studied. But faërie and magic and crazy little people who look and act like you are not part of our studies."

Mad Looney shook his head slowly with eyes of great wisdom and pity.

"Aye, I've heard humans were under educated. I just never imagined it could be so bad!"

Now Jaynie could felt the blood rushing to her face. She thought that any moment steam would start shooting from her ears. "You saying I'm stupid?" she screamed in a voice more shrill and terrifying than she had used so far.

"Oh no. Not in the human world, not in the human teachings. But in the real world, the faërie world, you know a whole bunch of nothing!"

Jaynie was shifting so fast from one emotion to another she felt like she was on the Colossal roller coaster spinning in circles. First scared, then confused, then angry and now suddenly very dumb. A tear began to form in her eyes and she threw out her only defense. "I'm just a kid!"

"Ah, that's the biggest heartbreak of it. All kids as you say, or children, should know about and believe in the faërie. They usually do until some adult with dung for brains tells them to quit being so childish and grow up. It is at that moment another child loses their innocent belief and another faërie dies."

This was becoming suddenly very depressing. Jaynie didn't want to upset anyone. And she certainly didn't want to feel like she was suddenly at a faërie funeral. But he was right. About faërie she knew a whole bunch of nothing. "So tell me about this faërie queen business."

"Aye, now she comes round. Queen Anahit is the faërie queen. Always has been. Queen Anahit is _your_ mother, and in a way the mother of all faërie"

"I've got brothers and sisters, that's—"

"In a manner of speaking, yes. But in fact, no. Queen Anahit is in the physical sense _your_ mother only. She gave birth to you. So you are her daughter and the rightful heir to the throne. Meaning, you will soon be queen."

"What...wha..whe..." now Jaynie understood what it meant to be given too much information. "When does this happen?"

"Bingo! The Million Dollar question. And the Million Dollar response: ONCE WE FIND HER AND YOU TURN 1000"

Jaynie burst into a roaring laughter and felt like she was going to explode.

"Oh...oh...oh...oh...ha, ha, ha...ha...once we finder her? Yeah, ha...ha...ha, but I won't be 1000...like, ever!"

Jaynie was now laughing so hard she was becoming very silly in the way that kids become silly when they've stayed up too late and seen something funny or been walloped over the head with a funny bat. Mad Looney had his arms crossed and stared at her in wide-eyed wonder.

He could contain himself no longer. "Never will be 1000, is it? Well, according to my calculations on the moon calendar, you're but 6 months away from your 1000th birthday. Don't know that, do ya?"

This stern pronouncement shocked Jaynie from her laughter. She adopted a squinnying

look as she raised her upper lip in disgust.

"No, I don't. Yeah, I have a birthday in 6 months but it's my 17th birthday. Maybe you need a new calendar?" she said with a smirk

Mad Looney let loose a tsk tsk and sighed in resignation.

"Yes, I know. Human numbers. Roman is it? All wrong, all wrong. The Faërie clock ,the only true clock, shows that in 6 months you will be exactly 1000. And before your birthday we must with great haste find your mother."

"Well, I want to find her, yes. But—"

"No buts about it. If we fail to find her before yer birthday all of Faërieland will be in grave danger."

"Why?"

"For 13 years our queen has been gone missing. This has imposed hardships aplenty as well as allowing BUGM to seize control. If we don't find her before your birthday the transference of royal title cannot occur. And if that happens faërie will have no queen now and forever. At this sad news only BUGM will rejoice."

"BUGM? Who...wha?"

"School's out, Princess. I will tell you on our journey. For now just know that BUGM is evil incarnate."

"Our journey?"

"Yes. Yer the detective, right Princess?"

"Uhm...if you say so."

"I say so because it IS so. Only you, Princess can save her. Let's be on our way!"

*****

By the light of the moon women sigh. By the light of the moon faërie fly. Jaynie and Looney

were outside in the bramble bush patch discussing their next move. They would need to gather clues. Some would be gathered in Jaynie's home. Some would be gathered outside. As the self-appointed grand master of the search party, Looney had his own ideas.

"A day as is as nice as the whispering spring. You say your mother left a pendant of some type?"

"Yeah, the Rainbow Spar.

"Ah, Rainbow Spar. A very important charm. Bring it to us, m'dear."

"Okay. Let's go this way up the dirt path to the house. I think my father's home though."

"No, no. Bring it to yer with magic."

"I don't know how to do that."

"When you were putting words into your brain box did you notice a funny feeling like electricity running through you? Did you see colored orbs floating around the room?"

"Uh huh. So what?"

"So that was the first moment of the rest of your faerie life. As the daughter of Queen Anahit your powers have come to you simply because your thoughts went toward the faerie world. Now, all you need to do is use them."

"Like, I just got these powers today. I don't know how to use them.

"You may be surprised by how much you already now. Remember, the moon is friend to the faerie."

"Really? Okay, I'll try."

Jaynie remembered her father's retelling of her mother's instruction, "Look to the moon and sing a song." Jaynie looked up at the moon and began humming her favorite song. Then she closed her eyes tightly and tried to picture the pendant. The screen in her mind went from a liquid milky white to black. Then it went to a bright yellow orange with the pendant in the middle of it. A bright flash washed the image away and in an instant the pendant dropped to the ground in front her.

CLINK!

She opened her eyes. "Wow. It worked!"

"Why of course it worked. If you had placed your hands palms up in front of you it would have dropped right into your hands."

"You didn't tell me that part."

"One lesson at a time. There is much to learn about harnessing your newfound powers. But we are not the ones to instruct you in this way. The matter has to go before the royal council who will then appoint an instructor to you. Then you can learn many things. Until then, we can only caution you against wishing for anything you'll regret," said Looney.

"Gee, sounds like something my father would say."

"Perhaps. Still, considering your current abilities it is advice is well worth heeding."

"I don't know how to not wish for anything, if that's what you're saying. You mean like don't wish for money, or things, or my mother?"

"Hmmm...Well, yes and no. A faërie by tribal law cannot do or wish for anything that is for her selfish needs alone. So to money and things, no! As to your mother, Princess, if wishing alone could bring her to us we would ask that you do it immediately. But we have tried and tried every charm and elixir in our powers and have got not so much as a glimmer of hope. We were hoping that because you are the Princess a wish from you could bring her right to us. But we know you have already numerous times wished for her

to be with you, is that right?

"Yes, of course."

"And yet she stays concealed. The council even had to consult our most ancient texts. Our only conclusion is the unhappiest one of all. She is either no longer among the living or she is being kept somewhere magic cannot touch her. It is for this reason we came right to you when your magic appeared on the universal Faërie communication board. It was a moment of supreme hope like we hadn't had for some time. But now..."

Looney stopped his explanations and hung his head like he was at a funeral. He was the picture of absolute dejection.

"Listen," said Jaynie. "Maybe something's changed now. Maybe my wish can reach her now that my powers have come to me."

At this Looney lit up like a light bulb. "Oh you glorious optimistic child! My mind has true to my name turned to porridge. Of course, of course, that could very well work!"

"Okay then. Is there anything special I need to do?"

"Only this. Picture in your mind a moment when you were together with your mother, just you and she alone. Keep that image firmly in your mind and with your eyes closed wish like you've never wished before, until you can feel a searing heat running from your toes to your head."

Jaynie's eyes opened wide. "I've felt that kind of searing heat like you say, before. The first time my magic came to me. But I wasn't wishing for anything."

Looney nodded affirmatively. "Yes, quite natural for yer maiden voyage so to speak. But the fact that you know the sensation means you know what to expect. You should feel that same thing when you make this wish. That sensation lets you know you're sending you're magical energies out and they're being received. If it works, they will wrap around your mother like a lasso and pull her right to you. Are you ready?"

"Ready."

Jaynie was very excited and nervous and scared. She wanted her mother like nothing else and if wishing could bring her back to her she was more than ready. But what if she messed up? Could something bad happen?

She had to know. "What if I do it wrong?"

Looney ran his hand through his beard. "Well, there really is no wrong thing in this matter. If yer thoughts are clear and pure is all that's needed. It's already known you are pure of heart. We just have to hope that's enough."

"Okay then." With this Jaynie sqeunched her eyes closed, stood with her arms at her sides with her hands balled into fists, and squeezed hard as she could. She flipped through pictures in her mind, pictures of her mother as she remembered her, pictures of the early years when she was around until she found the image she needed; her mother holding her up as she kissed her toes, Jaynie giggling the entire time. So she wished and wished and the searing heat started, then it stopped and was replaced by the feeling of strong needles of ice cutting through her. She stopped and opened her eyes in shock.

Looney saw the look on her face and knew something had after all gone wrong. "What happened? Did you see her in yer mind's eye?"

Jaynie shook with cold. "Yes, I did. But I felt the searing heat and then it was replaced by this freezing cold feeling. I had to stop."

Now Looney looked concerned. "Oh this is terrible news. Your connection must have been getting through then it was cut off. They must have drawn a circle of fire round her. Just before you stopped I had that fearful feeling that you have when you're near a horseshoe nail. There must have been one somewhere about. You couldn't mistake that feeling—as if needles of ice were going all through and through you."

"Yes, that was it. Like needles of ice."

"This is bad, Princess, bad indeed. I says they must have drawn a circle of fire round her because somebody is holding her against her will, somebody who knows how to use the strong magic of evil, somebody like BUGM or his minions. The good news is she's alive, alive, rejoice! The bad news is we must get to her as soon as we can. There's no telling what plots are being hatched as we speak!"

Looney bent down and picked up the pendant. He turned it around three times and studied it.

"Yes. This is definitely a Rainbow Spar. A most powerful juju. The rainbow coloring suggests the queen may still be alive."

"Wait a minute. May be alive? My mother told my father that if the Rainbow Spar shined it meant that she was okay."

"Under normal circumstances, that would be true. But when BUGM is involved one never knows."

"Are you telling me that because of this BUGM she could be dead?"

"Not necessarily. With BUGM involved we cannot be sure how to interpret the stone's message. Aside from that it can still be of some use."

Looney hopped up to a low hanging branch and held the pendant above him. He looked through it to see the moon. He nodded and smiled as if he had just received some good news.

"Grand! The optical properties are still intact."

Looney knew what they must do next. They would get back to the kingdom and consult the council. This new information they had of the queen being held captive, was a piece of information that could be used to advantage. And if it was in fact Malegar and not some human entity, they had their work cut out for them.

Looney began speaking as if to Jaynie but was in reality just thinking out loud of the challenges to come. "All this I see in the glass darkly. I have spoke with the feys at the hour of midnight and I have been touched be the moon."

At this call to action, Looney turned the pendant so the moon beam shined through it. Cutting through the pitch dark the beam sliced through the murk. A beam equaling the intensity of the sun demanded attention. Then he turned it so the beam pointed at Jaynie. Now Jaynie began a rapid descent down an express elevator, shrinking until she was the size of an acorn. Looney jumped down beside her. Putting Malegar down would not be easy. But their queen must be avenged!

Jaynie looked up. "Wow, Looney. You got a whole lot bigger!"

Looney chuckled. "Correction Princess. You've got a whole lot smaller."

A confused look spread across Jaynie's face. She looked around the side of her. YIKES! She was in a very dense forest. No, wait a minute, not a forest...a lawn. And not just any lawn, her lawn, the grass outside her home.

"What did you do to me?" she yelled.

"I've brought you down to faërie size. We need to get to the faerie kingdom and the opening door is just a wee bit small for humans. The door is around here somewhere. Just got to remember now where it is..."

Jaynie puzzled over this. She had never thought of that. It was using the Internet she had meant to conduct her search. How could she have known she could change her size?

"Ah, there it is," shouted Looney, pointing to a wide grizzled, black and thirsty oak tree ahead.

"What? That tree?"

"Yes, that tree. You see over in the middle bottom how there is a darker depressed looking rectangular shape? Well that is the door. Not exactly as hidden as I would prefer, but no one is asking me."

"Oh, right. Okay, so do we like go up and push on—AAIIEEEE!"

A quick push from behind and Jaynie stepped through the door and fell through into a black space that pulled her in like a mega power vacuum. And suddenly she was racing full speed down a slide, or chute, or something that took her breath away, terrifying and reducing her to a droning scream, "AAAIIEEE...."

If there were any doubt as to her ability to scream with ear blasting power for long duration, all doubt ended with this performance. There were only two other times in her life where a scream approaching but not equaling this magnitude had been emitted from her tender throat. The first when her father had accidentally (although she was never certain) kicked a snake over near her when they were hunting for worms by the lake. One could call this a traumatic character debilitating moment. The second time that brought forth this near cataclysmic caterwauling wail was when she found three pairs of her most favorite panties missing from her clothesline where she had gently and painstakingly placed them to dry. Why? Because these most gentle of all her gentle things were "special," machine washing and drying were far too barbaric. For their tender composition a hand wash and line drying were demanded.

A very good and well thought out plan. Almost. Evidently someone around here—she was never sure but had her suspicions—had a hankering for her daintyladies and was not afraid to seize them. Motive meets opportunity. And yes, on that abysmal day, that moment when she walked over to investigate the progress of her dainties in the drying process, she looked, looked again, and looked around once again thinking for sure she must be hallucinating, and finally, overcome with abject horror and indignation, screamed to raise the dead. This as you can imagine was not listed among her banner days. Following upon and upstaging these two most momentous traumas in her brief life was no easy matter. Yet one should not be quick to call impossibility. For today, her performance on the chute, slide, "Oh, whatever," sealed the deal and took the grand prize. She had outdone herself.

Let us hold that when this version of Mr. Toad's wild ride through somebody else's nightmare concluded, somebody somewhere would have to answer for it. You damn well better believe it, she thought. And I know who.

The world underground was something she could have never imagined. She kept thinking little strange creatures would pop out and grab her or bite her or something. But nothing appeared but ...nothing.. She would think that under the ground she would run into a bunch of bugs, too big and too curious, and hungry. But no, mostly nothing. They were dropping at a fairly rapid pace so really she could not see much around her. Not that she wanted to. And in what seemed like seconds they were spit out at the tail end of the giant slide she had been on and landed on their butts.

"Ouch"

"Welcome to the real world, Princess."

Jaynie grimaced and put her hands to her butt. "Nice world here. Not the best hello I've had."

She quickly spun her head around trying to get a handle on this new place, world, she had come to. Blackest black, brightest reds and yellows, a bit of sparkling green. One thing was very clear to her, this was not Kansas anymore.

"Things sure are a whole lot different here."

"And you only just arrived. It's transport we ought to have."

"Transport?"

"Yes. Might be you knows them as Dragonfly. Here they be called Zipwhizzer"

"Zipwhizzers?"

"Zipwhizzer."

"Duh. That's what I said."

"Not far along is Dogawallow pond," said Looney, ignoring her sass. "The Zipwhizzer be after gatherin' there."

"A pond underground? Isn't that like... impossible?"

"Impossibility is for the imagination impaired. You'll find that here, in Sörmlandia, nothing is _impossible_."

Now impossibility was something Jaynie would quickly come around to understand did not exist for Looney. In fact, she would find it was a word that did not exist for anybody she would meet. In this world. Not the world above. These were a different sort of creature here below ground. For instance, whereas above ground the dragonfly is alternately known as darner, darning needle, devil's darning needle, ear sewer, horse-stinger, mosquito fly, mosquito hawk, needle, skeeter hawk, snake doctor, snake feeder, and spindle, to the Floogle, the larger than life inhabitants of the world Looney and Jaynie had recently entered, there was no need or purpose for so many silly names for a creature that was quite miraculously named already: Zipwhizzer. Why it only made the most perfect sense!

When the Zipwhizzer races past, the only sound one hears is zzzzzzzzzzzzzziiiiiiiiiiipwhhhhhhhhhhhiiiiiiiiiiizzzzzzzzzz. So why would it be named anything else then? The Floogle are just a primary example of the inhabitants of Sörmlandia. Life as they understand it is already difficult enough. Why make it more difficult by assigning ridiculous names to things that quite happily name themselves? The only concession the good folk made was to shorten Zipwhizzer by a few letters and adding an 'er' at the end.

Although there were some among them who found great joy in chanting the full name zzzzzzzzzzzzzziiiiiiiiiiipwhhhhhhhhhhhiiiiiiiiiiizzzzzzzzzz ad infinitum. These few who felt so inclined were sent to live elsewhere. Life is already difficult enough.

WHOOSH! UP UP AND AWAY...

Flying on a dragon... Zipwhizzer. Wow! What a rush. She was so thrilled, so excited, so terrified, she thought that she may have found a substitute for her skateboarding escapades. Skateboarding around town causing mischief and mayhem was fun, no doubt. But dive-bombing on a Zipwhizzer? Far superior times ten. Best of all, she didn't need to concern herself with sporting her triple-wide-too-hard-to-find sneakers. Barefoot into the air she would go, like nature's unshod she warrior, or more appropriately nature's unshod warrior Princess.

There was no plan, no discussion, nothing beyond, "Must rescue the queen," race off to a rendezvous with someone named King Böxadór to discuss strategy and battle plans. But Jaynie felt entirely at odds and clearly out of her depth here. What 'exactly' was she supposed to do when trouble arose? Being as it were a newborn faerie Princess she felt totally insecure in her ability to call upon her inner faerie at will. Maybe if she was more practiced she might have a modicum of security. Yet here sailing through the Sörmlandia pathways feeling incredibly excited, scared, confused upon a Dra...Zipwhizzer, she had no more to work with than wondering if her presence here would make a decided difference somehow? As if her life was not confusing enough.

"So, Looney," she shouted, waving an arm overhead to get his attention. "What exactly am I supposed to be doing here?"

"Flying, Princess. Simply flying."

It was precisely this type of non-answer answer that made her want to so strangle or snuff this Looney. If he was so friggin smart, why did she need to spell everything out.

She went at the question again, keeping her tongue spears in check. "LISTEN %$#^#@*! I WANT A REAL ANSWER TO MY QUESTION. WHAT AM I SUPPOSED TO BE DOING _BESIDES_ FLYING?"

No one expected a 5-year-old who loved dressing like a princess to cuss like a sailor. This is her legacy. Evidently her planned 'keep tongue in cheek' was an abysmal failure.

"Tsk, tsk," Looney began, shaking his head mournfully. "You really must make a point of suppressing your outbursts. It is really most un-ladylike and well below the dignity of princess."

"Yeah, yeah...listen Mr. Helper, I want a simple, COMPLETE answer to a simple question, okay?"

Looney hung his head, defeated. "I suppose it only be right."

"Good. Glad we agree. Now, the complete answer to the question, please," she said, feeling a bit powerful and very polite and princess-like by adding please.

"The full answer is: you fly to the realm of M...BUGM, fight off his lagmen who seek to split skulls and dash out brains against a stone, penetrate the magic nullifying enclosure the queen is most certainly in, risk death and disintegration, rescue the queen, come back here, and take the throne becoming the new queen with all accordant risk of being the next abduction target."

Now with this total, ridiculously full and, ahem, graphic depiction of what she was to do, she wished she could turn back the clock to right before she so vehemently and foul mouthedly demanded a 'complete answer.' This matter of youthful impetuosity and impulsiveness would follow her for some time, becoming a steady albatross of which she will repeatedly feel the negative effects. We can only hope this character flaw does not figure too prominently into her responses in the near future. All faëridom and the human world rely upon it.

She girded herself for the trials ahead. "God...that is so GRAPHIC!"

Looney adopted his classic arms folded smug I-tried-to-spare-you stance.

"Well, Princess. I did try to spare you this imagery. Being but your faithful servant it is mine only to serve."

"And tell me whatever I ask to be told...no matter what?"

"Unfortunately, yes."

"And these lagmen, are they really—"

"Yes me dear. A most frightfully dreadful group of drones."

"Oh...tell me a good story then. The one where we save my mother, win this war and everything is happy happy joy joy."

"Gladly! When the time comes..."

"Damn," she grumbled. "I was hoping that would be NOW!"

"Hope is good, Princess. Keep it near."

From a long distance away little green eyes were scanning the marshlands. Like small Day-Glo kidney beans. They floated and drifted over the water keeping out of sight. Their bodies glowed a rude yellow, maybe more like chartreuse, or the color of vomit. Either way they emitted a glow along with a smell most foul that was their trademark. This was the outer perimeter of a place known as Kakojwë, a place most foul which most avoided with glee.

Jaynie felt something buzzing her ear. She slapped at it. Too slow. The night creatures of the swamp skittered on their way as her hand swept by them. Looney flew a few yards ahead.

A loud SHRIEK pierced the soundscape.

Jaynie jumped almost tumbling from her seat. "What...what is that...sound?" she stammered as her body shook and her face went white as if she had seen a ghost.

Looney appeared unfazed. "What sound?"

"That loud shriek. Don't tell me you didn't hear it."

Dropping his chin to his chest Looney considered then rubbed his chin.

"A moon child. You're a moon child. Only faerie born of a blue moon can hear the lead mare of the Dark Horde."

"The Dark Horde?"

"Oh yes," Looney offered matter of factly, as if he were commenting upon the sunset. "The horde is after rounding up delectations for their Blood Feast."

Jaynie felt a jolt to her stomach as if somebody had punched her. Maybe this was a dream after all, or a never ending nightmare. Faerie, Faerie Guide and now a horde gathering something for their blood feast. She just had to know.

"Blood Feast? What exactly is that?"

Looney brushed his hand across in a sign of curt dismissal.

"Oh nothing really. Just a feast where they devour unsuspecting humans."

She had to ask. Since this search began things have been going from bad to worse. And now she was too small to do anything; unless this was a dream. If it was a dream then she would just need to wake up.

"Okay, I know I'm going to be sorry asking this but, where do they get the humans? Are they like specially grown weirdo things like?"

"Not specially grown 'weirdo' things as you say. Just regular garden variety humans available any place humans are."

"Like—"

"Precisely. Sörmlandia, Upplandia wherever they may be."

"Oh," she said, her face becoming the picture of despair. "So my father, my aunt Malinda, Leo, and...and...ME!!"

Understanding the full implications now of Blood Feast and sacrificial humans gathering, she decided that maybe she would rather continue along in a decidedly quiet, non question asking way, until they had arrived at their rendezvous point. Terror gripped her so fiercely she felt her bones creaking from the impact, her head pulsing and throbbing, as if she were being crushed in preparation for something she would rather not think about. She remembered clearly a picture she had seen of a large, ugly, big nosed Troll who had a skewered and roasted fairy he was slowly pushing into his mouth, whole, her wings still quivering. Oh, and those teeth looked so fierce and savage. She could almost feel a perverse excitement, almost, but her stomach had plans of its own. Suddenly she felt a tremendous rumbling working its way from her legs to her throat. Her stomach plunged to her feet.

"I...g...g.... gotta HURL!!!"

And thus Jaynie submitted her first contribution to the Sörmlandia food chain. Over the side it went, down, down, down, falling into blackness so deep and impenetrable her queasy stomach was given no relief. All thoughts of thrilling excitement vanished with her sideward contribution. OMG! Don't I smell so sweet? And as these revolting thoughts and others slid through her mind at a sluggish pace, she hoped only for quick respite.

*****

There are some things taken for granted in life, many things, and a great many of those things taken for granted have to do with the environs in which one lives and moves. Since first arriving in Sörmlandia, Jaynie had become familiar enough with certain aspects, like the simple fact that Sörmlandia was to wherever she currently was as the Earth is to her home in Dumas. Yet as vastly different and confusing as she would expect most everything here to be she found it almost comforting, except for one simple reason: everything was the same but different. As if she were at home heading for the front door as she had many times before only to find the door was suddenly a window. Still she had many questions, and not being one to avoid asking questions, annoyingly so, she thought she would like to know where in Sörmlandia she was, now that she had landed after flying in.

"This is Fjärdmir Princess. An austere and simple place," said Mad Looney, hopping down from his Zipwhizzer. "Deceptively so, as Fjärdmir is a nation of warriors."

Looking around her she saw maybe thousands of houses, made of twigs, leaves, mushrooms, flowers anything that was readily available. She thought these constructions rather clever and inventive, reminding her of the miniature villages she made as a child. What she did not have to contend with as a child were wandering hordes of worms and beetles, which she could see came weaving through like city traffic, neatly avoiding houses and, she supposed, people. Were any people about. She must have arrived at nap time or something.

"If you wonder where everybody is, you will be pleased to note that they are presently involved in a council meeting with King Böxadór. Since your appearance on the Galaxy Highway, BUGM has been on the move. It is all too clear war is imminent."

"Oh, right. That's where we're going," squeaked Jaynie, one hand racing to her stomach the other to her mouth.

"Are you well, Princess?"

"Uh...yeah. I'm just kinda feeling like my insides are floating....BRAAP!"

"I see. This is a common symptom upon a first shrinking. But you will adjust in time."  
"First shrinking symptom? Jeez, thanks for telling me...NOW!!"

"My apologies, Princess. Expediency demanded quick action."

"I've already hurled once, don't want to again, thank you very much."

"You are quite welcome, I am sure."

*****

"We prefer to keep things of this sort under wraps. You must understand the amount of fanatical confusion and explosion that could result from us exposing that a dark world attack is imminent? At first people would think it was a joke. Then some would come around to thinking that there may be some truth to the matter. And finally, when the truth hits home, full-scale pandemonium occurs as a vast worldwide melee ensues. Not pretty, is it?"

"No, I'm getting scared just hearing you say it."

"So you understand our reticence."

Meeting King Böxadór and the others at the rendezvous point raised more questions in Jaynie's mind than she already had. As they discussed strategy and plans of attack the question was raised concerning spreading the word. If those here in Sörmlandia knew of the dangers that were on the boil, did they not have a duty to warn everyone in every land so preparation could be made? A number of renegades thought spilling the details was the best way. But this met with great resistance from the elders. They were of the opinion that letting this information of impending doom out of their grasp would unleash horrors far greater than those they sought to curtail. Yet this was always the way of the elders, the generational gap in full view. To Jaynie, passion and impulse ruling, the right thing to do was tell everyone as soon as possible, give everyone a chance to prepare as needed. Collect your loved ones, pets, clothes, things, things, and more things, stack rack and pack it all in a big container on wheels and hit the road. Why this would really help anything she could not necessarily say. It just seemed to her that moving was better than staying still if the end of the world was in process.

In reality, this was the type of battle Jaynie despised most of all. Adults, talk talk talk do nothing, versus youth, less talk more action. She had experienced so much frustration with this seeming inability of adults to move from talk to action. As if when people became adults they turned into scared manikins. Or drones, like those dreaded lagmen. To this she gave a large amount of thought. If leaving her present world of exciting, happening, sometimes scary youth meant joining a world of boring and scared manikins, she would opt out and stay a kid forever. Little did she know that if this were possible the world would be adult deficient as everyone knew that youth was the most precious and vital of times.

Wow, a world full of children, no adults. Would that be a wonderland or what? Then again, she had read _Lord of the Flies_ , and she knew that boring and scared is better than savage and vicious.

"EEUW! What is that nasty smell," said Jaynie, scrunching her nose.

A number of members turned and looked, mostly at her for the rude interruption, and shrugged shoulders in tandem.

"Aye...it's just the southern squalls incoming from Kakojwë." said Dillwhistle, one of the young warriors, as if this were a common occurrence. "The first time you smell it violently captures your attention, yes?"

Jaynie shot him a look that said, "No Duh!" but she remained silent.

"No duh? What does this mean?"

Uh oh, another mind reader or maybe she wasn't silent after all. "Uhm, look, I didn't mean anything by that. It's just something I say when someone tells me something that's so obvious it doesn't need saying."

Dillwhistle locked his eyes on her, a wide grin on his lemon shaped face. "I think I understand. An irrational impulsive sarcasm. A mockery. A means of causing one to feel foolish by casting derision. A very instructional exchange."

"Uhm...yeah. Hey, I'm really sorry. I didn't—"

"Apology accepted, my liege."

"Thank you. So, uhm..." said Jaynie.

"Private Dillwhistle."

"Private Dillwhistle." _Oh, right. This is a military exercise_. "I'm Jaynie."

"The pleasure is mine, Princess Jaynie."

"How did you know I'm a princess?"

Dillwhistle broke into a smile so wide it appeared his face would split. He paused uncomfortably and looked as if he thought momentarily of saying a 'no duh,' to her, but since she was royalty and he was not he would have thought this highly improper, offensive even. Gaining familiarity with royal protocol would take some time.

"Well, it is something known by all. We in Fjärdmir have anxiously awaited your return from the moment we received news of your query on the Galaxy Highway."

She had forgotten about the Galaxy Highway. No wonder everyone looked at her so strange when she arrived with Mad Looney. She couldn't tell if they were scared, shocked, or happy. Difficult to tell with creatures that appeared so...unusual. She was just getting used to the green tinted skin and large black almond eyes that seemed to be the primary characteristic of most of the—people?—that she met. Except of course for the occasional odd ones like Dillwhistle whose face resembled the largest lemon she had ever seen. But not a regular blazing yellow kind of lemon, more like a Citron, a subtly orange hue that almost looked human. And his eyes were large and almond shaped but more of a grey color, a clear grey that made her think of friendly waters waiting for her to dive in, and oh how she was tingling to dive in.

One aspect of Jaynie's impulsive behavior was her hormonal inability to remain focused and stay on topic when an appealing member of the opposite sex was in her sights. Though a distinction of species _should_ be acknowledged. She knew that her purpose here in Sörmlandia was to join forces with the troops and go to battle in a massive rescue attempt. This she absolutely knew. But somewhere, in that part of her that called out in wetly whispered cravings demanding skin on skin connection, embers were smoldering that would soon explode into a raging inferno. And this was very confusing to her. Should she let herself buckle to their demands she would be no better than a sex slave. On the other hand, if she ignored them they might go away (WRONG!). Yet on the OTHER other hand, she could simply smile a lot, flirt a little, play the coy and shy little girl and gather some information about how this sort of thing was done down here in Sörmlandia. Although the question of what this thing to be done was, had not yet been decided.

"So, tell me Private Dillwhistle," she cooed, fluttering her eyes like someone learning a new trick. "Do you have a, uhm, special someone? You know. A girlfriend or something?"

With eyes rolled into his eyelids as if the answer were contained there, he said, "Everyone I know is special in some regard. Take for instance, Marilla and Hollia and Jimlo and..."

Jaynie realized this cross cultural interspecies communication would take a bit more specific language. "Okay. Everyone is special in her own way. But what I'm asking is, do you have among all the obviously many girls you know one who is the most...uhm...one who makes your heart pitter patter and your stomach feel like it's flying?" she said, illustrating by pointing to the appropriate parts on her body.

Dillwhistle had a look on his face described as a deer in headlights or the thousand yard stare.

"I am sorry, Princess. I believe I do not understand."

Throwing herself panting and drooling at his feet would be a bit over the top. But if she kept this convo going she would explode all right, not with passion but with FRUSTRATION! She began moving forward, deciding this was at an end, and inadvertently brushed against Dillwhistle who was standing stiff as statue staring into the great beyond. Suddenly as if waking up, his eyes popped open wide.

"Excuse me Princess. But...I do not know how to say it..."

"No, please. What?"

"This is very uncomfortable for me, but, when you brushed your upper limb against mine I felt something that perhaps you term a 'flying stomach' and then I felt embarrassed."

You try to be fancy and smart as you try to communicate a simple idea and suddenly saying nothing at all says more than you had so far succeeded at. Jaynie felt the smoldering fire take flame.

"Great, Dillwhistle. That's great. So, do you get this same sensation with any of the other girls you know?"

Again the deer in headlights look. "Other GIRLS I know?"

This was clearly going to be a long haul case. First she would have to clearly, real painfully slow like clearly, specify what and what is not a girl and find the parallel word in the cultural language of Sörmlandia. This would take nothing but patience, something of which Jaynie was in short supply.

"Okay now. Look at me. Look me over from the top to the bottom and tell me. Are there others here in Sörmlandia who look like me?"

"No. Definitely not. There are none who posses an assortment of colorations and dimensions such as yours."

Wow! Sometimes painfully specific language can be totally hot!

"Okay, now. I'm a shape kinda like this," she said, drawing with her arms in the space around her the wavy curvy figure of a girl, a very developed girl.

"Yes, Princess. A very accurate representation."

"And you, have a shape kinda like this," she continued, drawing out a large rectangle.

"Yes, yes. Most definitely."

"Now, of the two shapes I just showed you, who, of everyone you know, looks more like the first shape and less like the second shape?"

"Less like you and more like me. Correct?"

She could see the home stretch and the tingles were coming on strong. "Yes, correct."

"Everyone I know is shaped more like me, almost exactly like me as a mater of fact."

Jaynie threw up her arms, let out a big Humph, and shook her head in defeat. In the final stretch of this grueling race and her horse collapsed in a heap at the final turn. What was she doing wrong? Were there no females in this weird place? Were there no...Wait a minute! That's it? How completely stupid and simple is that? Suddenly the clouds parted and a miraculous ray of redemptive light came blazing through.

"Females, Dillwhistle. Females. Where I come from those like me are called females, and those like you are called males."

The blazing light bounced from her right into the eyes of her pupil and suddenly it was as sight given to the blind, miracle moment somebody ring the Pope please.

"Of course, of course, Princess. Now I understand. You sought only to make a distinction between those of your gender and those of mine. But you were using words so unfamiliar to me and concepts so ambiguous it was difficult for me to discern."

"Okay...okay. Females of my age are called girls or women, females much younger than me are called girls—"

"Yes, yes, you used that word before."

"Right. So, here in Sörmlandia, what word is used to describe a female that is approximately my age?"

"Loorih."

"And an older female?"

"Loorihija."

"And finally, females younger than my age."

"Nubbin."

"Alright. Here we go. Do you have a special Loorih your age?."

"Yes, indeed. Marilla and Hollia and Parisa and sometimes Anilyha. Very VERY special."

"All of these females are special?"

"Of course. Each in her own way."

"I thought for sure there would be just one who was far more special to you than the rest. Like your one and only."

"Oh, I think I understand what you ask. For the one and only special one, once we are past the parading, we go to the nesting place and then if all goes magnaculous, we become a bonding and remain as such."

"Until?"

"Until the next parading and nesting cycle."

"So this goes on all the time, just like that?"

"Every young Gilf looks forward to the day when he can begin the perpetual cycle, continuing as long as he can until a clanning. Then everyone rejoices and awaits the newling."

Wow, did she read this guy wrong. If he has gone round and round on this cycle without end it sounds like the kind of arrangement all the guys she knew would die for. In fact, it sounded exactly like every guy she knew. And the way he spoke of it so matter of factly as if commonly understood to be the one and only way to hook up, she wondered if she had misjudged his age. He certainly spoke like he were millennia older than she thought.

"So, Dillwhistle. How old are you then?"

"2200 next gloaming."

"Oh...."

"Have I disappointed, Princess?"

Quickly putting on her brave face she dove right in and went for closure. "No, just wondering that's all. It's good for a princess to know what kind of soldiers she has in her command."

Now Dillwhistle presented an air of despond as he hung his head, looked at his shoes, and chewed on his lower lip. Perhaps there was more to his neatly cavalier rendition of the endless parading loop tale after all. Things are not always as they seem.

"You do not find me too ancient then? For the battlefront?"

"No, not at all, Private Dillwhistle. You may dismiss."

"Good day, my liege," he said, with a backward step and deep wide bow, finishing with a flourish.

As her father would say, "It's all over but the cryin'."

Princess Jaynie went a courtin' and she did try, uh huh, uh huh

Princess Jaynie went a courtin' and she did try, uh huh, uh huh

Princess Jaynie went a courtin' and she did try, boy oh boy oh boy did she try, uh huh, uh huh, uh huh...

Almost off in tragic dreamland was Jaynie after her near miss with Dillwhistle. It was only what, three days ago, or was it two, that Mad Looney had swifted her up and spun her away into faërie dystopia, and she'd been swirling ever since. Then there was Leo whom she fondly remembers and can't seem to let go of, even though she was not one to moon over guys, any guys, especially guys as oh-my-god neutral as Leo. Yet she felt again this dreaded boredom crashing in on her that made her want to do drastic, contemptible things, such as try to hit on and pick up alien creatures with no intention of knowing them in any way but biblically. In the deepest warmest wettest parts of her she was beginning to fear extreme sluttiness setting in. This she did not want. She did not want to be like Sarah Lippencourt, whose court was full of more balls than the USTA. This was a girl who took biblical knowledge to extreme biblical proportions. Was Jaynie becoming like her? She sure hoped not. But little displays like the one with Dillwhistle did not justify her expectations to the contrary.

"Whoa! If it ain't our little slut princess, Jaynie. Good to see you. Up to your old ways I see with my boy Dilly."

Jaynie spun around with an electric shudder that shook her from her thighs to her toe tips when she heard this voice. Sounded so familiar, so Dumas. But here in Sörmlandia?

"Who..."

"Móam, Princess. Nice to meet you. Was thinkin' maybe you'd like some action."

"Some...? Wait a minute, uhm, Móam. Not only is that no way to treat a lady, it is definitely no way to treat a princess. So if you think—"

"What I think is entirely right. You may be a princess but word is out that you play it fast and loose. And anyway, you may as well ride with me while you can cuz once I lead the charge into BUGM, every Loorih from here to Flooglesfyll will be on me like lichen."

There was something disturbingly familiar about this guy, uh, creature, and she swore she had heard this shtick before. From HIM or some facsimile of him. He couldn't know her as he says. How could he? He lived here in Sörmlandia and she did not. Impossible! Yet the words of Mad Looney came back to her, saying nothing here was impossible as "impossibility is for the imagination impaired." However insulted she may be given to feel, something about the way he swaggered and swayed into her personal space was a bit on the enchanting cum exciting side. And though this was a reaction she hoped to steer clear of, certain parts, certain warm wet and private parts, were tingling a message from south to north warning hormone central of intruder alert but the guards at her gate were drunk with love berries. Maybe she was under some kind of spell. That's it. He's a magician. An evil character here to lead her down the road to perdition. Unfortunately, it was a road she was well acquainted with and not averse to traipsing down again.

"In fact, I'd be willing to put you first in line for my next parading go round. That alone is quite an honor!"

"Listen, Móam. Whatever you think you're gonna get from me, you're WRONG! And also, if anyone is going to lead the charge into BUGM to rescue my mother, the queen, it is me, okay? So get a handle on yourself."

"Hmmm...A bit high strung, are we? I know what you need for—"

"'Whatever, snapper head!" hissed Jaynie, her face blazing electric red. "This princess has flown!"

With that Jaynie swiveled and popped turning straight away from this character that no matter how her best instincts told her to abhor, she was titillated in a most dangerously delicious way. Nevertheless, a princess has gotta do what a princess has gotta do. If anyone was going to be hooking up with this princess, it would be at her initiation, not the other way round. The devil's panties were under her command.

So she stormed off in royally righteous indignation making an effort to stomp her feet more than necessary to get the point across. Móam and Dillwhistle looked at her, exchanging glances,—and was that smirks?—letting her know she had their attention. Whatever the result may be. Being a princess was not all happy happy joy joy, and led her to believe that sometimes yes, happiness is a warm gun...

That evening, as she laid her tired self down to sleep, she reflected on the day's events with profound puzzlement mixed with excitement. It seemed to her that at some point in the day, precipitated by what she did not know, things went decidedly wonky and twisty, like she was caught in a taffy pull. And as each second ticked by she had felt an increasing tingling sensation shoot up and down her body and running along her skin like static electricity. Funny how she had not stopped to think about this till just now. So powerful was the effect of this that even now, tired as she was, she just could not settle down enough to sleep.

Rising up from her leaf bed, she was compelled to run to a mirror and take a look at her eyes for some reason. Talk about extra sensory perception. When she arrived to the mirror she was greeted by a girl she barely recognized as herself, for the bluish tinted skin, pointy ears, wild static charged red hair, and fluttering wings coming up from behind her. Oh yes, and her eyes, which she was driven from bed to see, were the deepest, most translucent green hue, electric and lit from within, which if she said so herself, looked totally hot and gave her the look of sex goddess and devil's panties incarnate. Maybe Dillwhistle, if she had already made this transformation when they met, was terrified on seeing her this way. For herself, she wouldn't say she was _terrified_ at her new faërie look, but definitely intrigued. Okay, let's face it, she was excited with a capital E. Maybe this is why she had felt so strange, so meshugganuh, so floaty stomach to the point of hurling. Another teeny weeny thing that Mad Looney had forgot to share with her. And again, this was no teeny weeny thing at all! Little did she realize that when she announced to Móam, "this princess has flown," she was mere nanoseconds away from being able to do just that, and that her transformation into her faërie self was the final stage of her incarnation into faërie princess, an incarnation that would serve her most excellently in her trials to come. Up, up, and AWAY!

A rickety place this was. Jaynie was convinced that no matter how long she was here she would not accept being indoctrinated into the parading nesting cycle. If the "guys" here expected that then this was no better than up topside in Upplandia. And to be dissed by a character like Móam was something so totally beyond her. Did he really find that worked with the girls, calling them sluts and expecting them to respond with drools and giggles? Granted, she was itching to get busy as soon as possible. What else could a girl do? But this...this...

Then there was Mochica Mayal. "Yoorih doll, you look like you've got some serious thoughts pulling you down. Maybe we could crew up and deal."

This was a most annoying habit seemingly shared by all the creatures she met here. One minute she is alone in her "personal space," thinking her thoughts, drifting along, and someone pops in as if invited and starts talking to whatever thoughts had been occupying her at the moment. How annoying! And now another one. Well, at least this one was female. Getting the female perspective at this point, especially with her most recent infuriation, would maybe be a _welcome_ intrusion.

"Oh, hi. I was just—"

"I know. That's what I'm talking about. When girl troubles raise their nasty heads, or according to some Loorih troubles, it's Mochica you call. Capital M-o-chica."

"Okay, capital M-o-chica. I'm Jaynie, but you probably already know that. My element of surprise is nonexistent down here. And it strikes me kinda odd that you speak in a slang style I'm very familiar with...in Upplandia. How and why you speak that way in Sörmlandia I have no idea. And Latino words? What's up with that?"

"Wow. You're a long winder. You many find it hard to believe that the customs and speaking styles from Upplandia DO trickle down to us here in Stormdrain. We are under your world, but not beneath it."

Jaynie started giggling away exploding into full on laughter like she hadn't done for some time. Stormdrain? Under your world but not beneath it? This Mochica was an odd but sarcastically funny character.

"I like you, Mochica. You're kinda—"

"Different?"

"Yeah. In a word. But different in a cool and sarcastic way which I happen to love."

"Well, Jaynie...or is it Princess Jaynie? I am the love of some the curse of others. Comes with the territory."

"Speaking of territory, what's up with this parading-nesting-clanning cycle I've been introduced to? I mean, the whole idea is not unfamiliar to me. It's a lot like home. But then this Móam character comes up and starts calling me slut and telling me he would honor me by putting me in first place for his next go round of the cycle as if I would just jump into his arms and I'm just like AARRGH!"

"Like I said, things from your world DO trickle down to us here in Stormdrain. That's one of them."

Mochica lifted her hand, fanning her fingers out in the manner of a girl admiring her fingernails then proceeding to do just that. "Are you a slut? Probably not, like most girls are NOT," she said, waving her hand as if to shoo the foul smell of those words. "But, well, boys will be boys and we love 'em and hate 'em simultaneously. And Móam? He's as desperate as a water worm on dry land."

"Oh. So, you know him?"

"Girl, let me tell you. Who _doesn't_ know him. If he scored every time he used those weak lines, we'd be run out of here and have to move up top. We're talking clanning supreme!"

"But he does succeed _sometimes_?"

"Oh yeah. Sometimes. But he ain't gonna tap Mochica no mo', chica"

Jaynie was of course infuriated at the arrogant swagger of Móam. Evidently she and Mochica could agree with that. Yet totally conflicted as to her response. If she said yes, then maybe she _was_ a slut. If she said no, well, that she had done. And now Mochica had been around at least once with him. This drama was getting interesting.

"So you and he—"

"Long ago. Back before the rise of BUGM. Those were sweet times," she said, her eyes getting misty and soft. "Now ugliness runs wild. But girl, let me tell you. That boy is NOT going to make the great lovers hall of fame. We're talkin' Zipwhizzer."

As if waking from an interminably long dream, Jaynie's ears perked up to the sounds of military exercises in progress. This was her purpose here, to join in the war effort. Yet nobody here had done anything but pay her lip service in regard. Oh yeah, Dillwhistle said that every one in Fjärdmir had been expecting her. They had been excited at her arrival as it signaled the beginning of maneuvers. Then like wisp of smoke, it disappeared overnight. She thought that someone should be coming around to fetch her. And why weren't they anyway? She was the princess after all. Didn't that count for anything beyond bows and pleasantries?

A few moments ago she was incensed about the rude and presumptuous advances of Móam. Now, she was totally absolutely postally pissed over being excluded. She had not come here to be a cheerleader. She had come here to fight!

"Speaking of ugliness, I should be getting my game on to go to war. Get some combat instruction. But nobody's offered. Nobody's come round to fetch me. Like I'm being kept away for some reason."

Mochica shot her a concerned look. "Oh, that would be Móam's doing. Thinks he's the chosen one. He's probably got them convinced you're too _royal_ to fight."

Móam again. This guy creature was becoming a royal thorn in her royal butt. _Who does he think he is anyway. He doesn't know anything about me, nothing at all._

"Oh...Now I am so pissed I feel like I'm gonna explode. Nobody has the right to exclude me from taking down BUGM and saving my mother. Nobody! And if anyone thinks I'm too royal, too girly to fight, they've got another thing coming."

"Well, only one way to go at this. Let's get you to the king right away!"

*****

King Böxadór was sitting in his royal chamber. Going about his royal business as if nothing spectacular at all were happening. Didn't he just yesterday come before the people of Fjärdmir and tell them the plans for battle? He did. And hadn't that been all that was required of him? After all, he was the king and a king's gotta do what a king's gotta do. Sitting in his royal chamber was one of life's few remaining joys. Appointing General Wolfbiscuit in charge of the operation effectively ended his participation. In an overt way. From this point forward his was to sit tight while he fretted and waited for reports from the battle front. Those reports would start soon enough. But at the moment his bigger concern was cakes. Cookies and cakes. Without them the royal tea was a royal disaster. It was these small courtesies that made his world spin on greased wheels. Otherwise, he was concern free. Insouciant you might say. Almost. The king was masterful at submerging his pain. And a king had a major case of pains of any given sort at any given time. So being king was a pain. Though he would never say that. He did have his noblity to consider. And posterity. There was always that. Maybe someone would come along soon asking to write his royal biography. Get a book deal. Go on tour. Yes, that would be nice. Much nicer than siting his chamber with kingly pains on his crown. These twirling thoughts of kingdom come-kingdom go, sometimes made him meshuggenuh.

But he ain't seen nothing yet.

The stilling silence of the king's chamber was in a fracticimal second bursting with a frantic energy known as the royal Page.

"Your Majesty," sputtered a frazzled arm waving Lux Diameter, a rather rotund shaft of light whose demeanor was more akin to black hole. "There is a Princess Jaynie requesting audience for "matters of a desperate nature," to quote her precisely. And I must say she does _look_ quite desperate, if that means anything."

"A desperate nature is it? Fascinating. I had just been pondering the desperate nature of the royal cake and cookie stores. Can you offer any illumination in this regard?"

Lux Diameter _could_ offer illumination in that regard. If he wanted to get his royal behind walloped. He had been charged with replenishing the royal stores only yesterday. One whole day ago. To the king's royally conditioned mind one day was more than ample time to replenish. Nothing was impossible. So why then had his royal page been unable to complete this simple task? Simply because his simple page was simply hungry and devoured the royal stores before he could stock them. A bad bad boy he was. Of course the king could never know this. Never. And all Lux Diameter wished to do now was alert the king to a request for audience. That's all. Little did he know the king had been having a royal cow over a lack of cakes and cookies for his royal tea service. Sometimes the duties of royal Page were a royal pain in the backside.

"To that, your majesty, I can only express my deepest apologies. It seems the royal baker is lacking flour, and the local merchants are...well, the war you know. Therefore, a slight delay in delivery."

"A slight delay...a slight delay. That is the most imbecilic, boneheaded, dim-witted..." The king looked up at the high arched ceiling as if the answer or salvation were contained therein. He paused as though he discerned its twinkling presence. Tick. Tick. Tick. Deciding neither was forthcoming, he let out a none-too-subtle Humph and continued.

"What's the point? I'm surrounded by idiots. "Hop to it royal page and see to it this matter is resolved most expeditiously. Bring in Princess Jaynie then..."

The royal page had no need to bring Princess Jaynie in as her senses, sharpened by her magical transformation, received the message as soon as it left the king's lips. In she fluttered, flapping her newfound wings as if born to them. To the eyes of King Böxadór this blue tinted wild red haired creature with luminescent green eyes was so enchanting he was uncharacteristically stunned to silence. Since BUGM had seized control the faërie kingdom seemed to keep to itself. Restricted their travels to urgent matters only. So to see this profoundly breathtaking display in of all places his "chamber" was beyond comprehension. When he was a child he dreamed of moments like this. Faërie coming to him spinning their charms and seductions while he swirled in concentric circles of delirious joy. And anyway, he was a child no longer. He was a man. A full grown man king. So how should he comport himself? With dignity. Royal dignity. This was not the smoky trough and brew establishment of his youth. This was the king's chamber and he was king and a king restrains and suppresses his lustful impulses. Despite all. Yet at the same time, there were kingly privileges. It was good to be the king.

"Princess Jaynie. When we first met you looked so...so...different. So human. And now, you look so...naked..." Oh no. He already cracked. He could not stop staring at her luscious faërie parts. Suppress, suppress. "No, not so naked, so gloriously unadorned and savage. Yes, that's it. Savage..."

This morning when Jaynie had risen, of course knew she was naked as her clothes had shred upon her transformation. Why they should have shred and not just slipped off, too large for her new incarnation, she did not know. What she did could not know is her clothes would have slipped off of her, much like the Koonago, if her transformation involved shrinking. But shrinking any further would make her gnat sized. This was unnecessary and unproductive. Gnat sized warriors are only effective in legion. Her transformation involved not removal but addition. And the new additions packed quite a seismic wallop.

As to all other things in Sörmlandia she found that applying logic failed miserably. So a few tears, a few ties, a drape across one shoulder and over her front side, and she had created a fabulous modern renegade faërie ensemble, covering just the essentials...barely. She may have issues where concern her feet and their accordant dimensions. But one thing with which she had no issue at all was her legs. The gams of a beauty queen. Really. And in this newly designed hot off the designer racks modern renegade faërie ensemble her legs were stunningly fetching. And truth be told, it appeared her feet had conformed to stunning proportions as well. Finally. Normal sized feet! She bounced and bounced as exhilaration took hold. She had only to become a total _freak_ to become totally normal. Again, logic failed, so she didn't try.

"King Böxadór. There are matters of a desperate nature I wish to—"

"Yes, my page has alerted."

"...bring to your attention. It's—"

"Desperate?" he said, an emerging smile on his face.

If there is one thing the king did not want to do is upset a faërie. And not just any faërie, this faërie. This modern renegade faërie, Princess Jaynie, outfitted in her most fetching modern renegade faërie attire. To do that would be perhaps the most stupid undignified thing he could do, besides staring openmouthed at her hovering jiggling luscious faërie parts. Yet this he did and in the flash of a gnat's eye her face went from blue to pink to raging red, her green eyes flashing like an Olympian lightning storm. If this were Christmas, her red and green coloration would have been marvelously appropriate. Might even have garnered her grand prize in a royal holiday costume competition. But this was not Christmas, not a celebratory event, nowhere near joyous. This was modern renegade faërie Princess Jaynie in the starring role of royally-raging-red pissed off! Hell hath no fury like a faërie scorned.

"Look, laughing boy. I have come to you for help and you mock me. War is in process and I am being excluded against my wishes. Did anyone ask me? No. So what is the problem here? And remember; explain it so a child could understand."

"This is news to me. Your purpose here was for the purpose of inclusion. Everyone is aware of that. And General Wolfbiscuit—"

"General who? Never heard of him."

"Most unusual, Princess. The General has been appointed to lead the troops into battle. Surely, you have heard of this."

"Like I said, never heard of him."

"Am I to understand that the General has not notified you of any of this?"

"Yes, you are to understand exactly that. So where is this General...whatever. I'll go tell him what's what."

"General Wolfbiscuit. See here, Princess. You cannot just—"

"Is your crown too tight? I want into this war effort right now. Immediately."

"There there. Settle down now. I will call a plenary session of council and—"

"#%*&$#%*&$#!!! NOW. NOW. NOW. I WANT ACTION NOW. NO MEETINGS. ACTION!!!"

Pushing her to the point of Vesuvial eruption was not smart indeed. In fact, it was not necessary at all. Evidently the king had sat the throne so long he has forgot that some situations demand immediate action. Not meetings. Had he remembered this he may have curtailed the onset of Hurricane Jaynie and the incumbent foul mouthed tongue lashing. And were Jaynie not of royal blood herself, her outburst would have been met by nothing less than swift and prejudiced imprisonment. But he royally pushed it too far, she exploded, the rest is kept for posterity and inclusion in the forthcoming royal biography. Once a ridiculous number of plenary sesssions are ordered to bring it about. Someday.

Wishing to not provoke any further violent outbursts, the king decided quite unilaterally—leaving the committe out of the loop so to speak—to issue a command to whomsoever was listening that Princess Jaynie should fortwith be brought before General Wolfbiscuit for the purpose of his explaing to the Princess, in such way that a child could understand, why and wherefore her exclusion from the war effort and under whose authority were those exclusionary orders given.

In addition, the king issued a suggestion to Princess Jaynie that she may wish to reel in her royally explosive temper and behave in a manner more in accordance with her royal bearing at any future meetings, whether they be meetings of official status or strictly personal in nature. He was sure to point out emphatically that these were merely suggestions. Well intended suggestions. Much as he would give his own children. If he had any.

Commanding that Jaynie should be brought before General Wolfbiscuit for a full explanation and actually causing this to occur are different matters entirely. First, the command was given. Then, Lux Diameter was ordered to escort her to the general's headquarters. Finally, the trek began. A trek which was to be no trek at all. In fact, if the trek that was not to be continued in the fashion it was going, not only would they not arrive at the general's quarters but the war would have passed them by along with countless millennia. How such a state of affairs could happen is only understood from the perspective of noting the relative merits and demerits of Lux Diameter.

Let us notate:

POSITIVE QUALITIES

Passion

Perseverance

Diligence

Loyalty

NEGATIVE QUALITIES

Sloth
What can be seen from this accounting are the completely lopsided and canceling effects of those qualities in the NEGATIVE column with respect to their corresponding qualities in the POSITIVE column. It can also been seen that the NEGATIVE contains only one entry whereas the POSITIVE column contains four. It will be shown how this seemingly meager single entry is a more than formidable match for any number of opposing others. We will now place words synonymous with sloth alongside each item in the POSITIVE column to view the net result of such a pairing. Combine passion with apathy and you're left with something resembling mild excitement. Perseverance with sluggishness you get something best equated with a backward moving snail. Diligence with indolence you are left with a condition of lukewarm interest. Loyalty with idleness you are left with a type of loyalty so slow to act it is as good as invisible. Now this is not enumerated for the purpose of discounting the present and consistent efforts of one Lux Diameter. Not at all. It is done simply to understand that if the extreme expression of qualities listed in the POSITIVE column are absolutely demanded by necessity, one should become quickly accustomed to disappointment. Thus it was that the trek that should not have been was rapidly becoming an Odyssey of Homeric proportions.

Keep in mind, Lux had his hands full. So much so that he was at a loss even to guess with reasonable accuracy how full his hands were. Jaynie was sixteen years of age, mere months away from crossing the great divide into seventeen years of age. Understanding the relative demeanor and capacity for tolerance and patience at this age is key to understanding what one can and cannot expect to get away with in the order of weak performance. Tolerance was minus zero. Patience ditto. Sass two-hundred percent. So in other words, when a simple exchange like the following occurred:

"I think we should cross the river here at the bridge, Princess."

"Ya think? I thought we would forget the bridge and swim across instead."

It is clearly displayed how their union was progressing.

Let us allow that Lux was as eager to please as he was given to indolence. Bearing in mind that indolence was his primary expression, it can be concluded that in the pleasing department, he was an eager little beaver, or more specifically, an eager and physically large aquatic rodent. Unfortunately for him, his inability to gauge the pleasure quotient of his target audience dulled his patina potential. Even if he wiggled his whiskers to raise a sandstorm. He could of course—were he a few points higher on the IQ scale—use his resources in a more effective manner and allow factors such as Jaynie and her flying abilities to retain an airborne post directly overhead thus guiding the way as opposed to rushing and mostly stumbling through the bracken, brushwood, bramble and thistle as if abruptly stricken blind mid stride. Yet somewhere in his "fairy tale in creation" mindset, tethering the wire between the fairy tale and the abyss were oodles and boodles of gruesome potentialities too elaborate to consider. Were they in fact going to meet the general, or were they in fact engaged in a reconnaissance effort of monumental proportions whereby their heroic efforts would be rewarded sumptuously with maximum largesse placing them squarely among the pantheon of immortal mythological heroes? Now, it was clear to anyone whose moniker was not Lux Diameter that this was well beyond wishful thinking and diametrically inclined toward delusional. Yet it could be substantively argued that were it not for the component of delusion, nary a mythical hero would be engendered. Move over Achilles, Lux is on the way!

As nightfall approached it was clear the dauntless duo would not be rendezvousing with the general before the moon swept the heavens. Lost is too mild a term to apply here. Gobsmacked is more fitting. Denoting a meaning of "utterly astonished, astounded," it is much stronger than just being surprised; it is used for something that leaves you speechless, or otherwise stops you dead in your tracks. It suggests that something is as surprising as being suddenly hit in the face. So it is clear that our dear schlump Lux, was consequently and summarily hit in the face with the baffling impression that he would not make the general's headquarters by moon rise. And where was Jaynie during this moment of spontaneous meltdown? She was tending to matters of a more centrifugal and essential nature; her personal hygiene. It had become clear to her some hours back that they were moving as fast as a slug sliding down a caramel highway. Meaning, they were going nowhere at a brisk pace. So what is a girl to do? Well, her first choice could not be pursued as she was alone with this Lux character instead of some totally hot guy character. Where was Móam when she needed him? She could almost see herself magnanimously giving him another chance. The poor girl was getting a bit too gushy for a major goon. Secondly, and perhaps more pertinent, was the matter of her miraculously remodeled feet, which caused her so much joy in their aspect that she swore this alone could get her to the pinnacle of excitement she could get to via her first choice. We are talking some seriously hot feet. So hot did she get as she ogled and drooled her body began to emit a strong high pitched odor that led her to know a bathing was in order. One girl. One odor. One river. Put them all together and what do you get? Jaynie in a river bath.

Meanwhile Lux pondered the significance of his misspent life and botched travel plan wondering where he had gone astray. Though the illumination was slow in arriving, he was really in no rush. Sloth requires very little in the way of motion. Stasis is a steady friend. Therefore while Jaynie took care of her hygienic and cosmetic needs, Lux took care of his existential angst by ignoring it and hoping it would slink into a corner like a good little angst monster and let him be. Clearly inexperienced with angst monsters he did not realize that they rarely relented and let one be. This was not in their nature. Theirs was to nip and pluck and pinch and slash until an existential funk became a swallowing quicksand, a place or situation into which entry can be swift and sudden but from which extrication can be difficult or impossible. Would Lux find the fortitude to overcome and transcend his gloom? Being that we have not the luxury of living forward of this tale we will need to wait and see.

Let us then turn our attention to the rightmost frame as we check up on progress at the river bath, where our exuberant and narcissistic faërie girl is becoming quite friendly with herself in a biblical way. Understanding that at this advanced age of so called civilization, where the paparazzi view has replaced solitary examination, where spectacle has surmounted substance, where time is more than ever before money, the costs abound while tempers flare. Prying eyes are most unwelcome at places of intimate inquiry despite the viewpoint of the skin magazine trade. Not wishing to invade her personal space we will let her be. The unexamined life is not worth living. Would that her intense examinations yield insights aplenty.

*****

"Teeg, bring that old warhorse around this way."

"Yessir, Staff Sergeant sir."

The warhorse, or more accurately Zipwhizzer, was brought forward to Staff Sergeant Spliff. In accordance with official orders rules and regulations all vehicles, planes, tanks, etc, must be once a year inspected. These inspections were typically carried out by the lower ranking service staff but today the Staff Sergeant himself wished to be involved in the process as opposed to sitting back and waiting for the official TRD (Test and Repair Depot) report.

The staff sergeant operates in an environment where the sparks fly. The staff sergeant can be accurately described as being where the axe meets the stone. He had realized that rising up through the ranks was not all that he had imagined. For instance, as part of his charge with his new staff sergeant appointment he was to oversee the entire Service and Support operation which was to his way of thinking an important task but nothing more than grunt work. And frankly, his eyesight had not been what it used to be so he would prefer not to dig through another tediously long, brain numbingly intricate mishmash of facts figures and details which to his rank escalated eyes appeared nothing more than termite scrawl. But far be it from him to complain. Still, he needed the help of glasses which made him look like a bluebottle fly which he was most definitely NOT thank you very much. He was an esteemed member of the clan of Hegelwyte—the aristocratic branch of course—and this fact alone meant that he above all Trumb had no relation to flies although he did appreciate their contribution to the BBS (Buzz Bomber Squadron.)

"Each and every serviceman is worth his weight in mold, Teeg, Never forget that. Even if he is a servicewoman."

"Yessir."

"And due to your exemplary mold worthiness I ask that you read to me the content of this official document. Not all of it you understand, just one specific section."

Staff Sergeant Spliff reached into the breast pocket of his official TRD jacket, withdrew a sheaf of papers and waved them at Teeg.

"Sir?"

"Very important papers, top level variety, the type of thing most low ranking service personnel never see. But I've got my eye on you Teeg. Top notch, top notch."

At this Teeg straightened up like a board his face flushing with pride.

"Thank you, sir!"

"Here you are then."

The Staff Sergeant pushed the papers into Teeg's waiting hands, lines of concern crossing his brow.

"Just the part that speaks of Impact and such."

Teeg began scanning pages, starting at the beginning, looking for the key word Impact and hoping he doesn't pass it by in his nervousness. Luck is with him.

"Here it is sir. Impact Analysis and Effort Estimates."

"Ah. Proceed."

"Each Service sub-process, such as Service Logistics, Headquarters Support, Test and Repair Depot, Tactical Response Center, etcetera, typically will study the new or revised proposal to understand what impact its introduction and launch will have on the service organization. From that understanding they will create an effort estimate that will include all the tasks related to their readiness for introduction and launch. Service Plan status reports will be given regularly in the team project meetings and the project status will be given to—"

"That'll do private. Give it here."

"But sir there's—"

"I said that will do private. Dismissed!"

The bean counters were at again. Count this, estimate that, justify justify justify! Was the Faërieland Inerstellar Army a public operation of military personnel or a private corporation of civvies? With silly commands such as the one he had just been given to understand it seemed there was some confusion of purpose. Okay, so everyone is up in arms because of the BUGM incident and fingers are pointing everywhere trying to asses blame. Understood. But according to Staff Sergeant Spliff this is the military they were talking about, not the enemy. If top command had accepted his proposal to increase air support and surveillance BUGM might never have been able to penetrate the Faërieland perimeter with such blazing speed and comprehensiveness. The weaknesses in the crossover matrix had been observed and documented long ago and submitted by his team. Now they want everyone to count their beans and justify every penny as if any amount of number crunching will prevent such a failure from happening again. It was nothing more than a case of battling green eyeshades. This entire mess could have been snuffed out before it blazed if Tactical Response didn't have their heads up their kazoo; that's the general consensus. But he did all he could like any good officer. These new proposals were just a waste of effort, a time sponge. No point in closing the gate once the beetles have run free. Somebody was trying to railroad him! He crumpled up the papers and tossed them to the ground. Justify that, eyeshades!

Outer Trumboo. The memories still lingered and became for him a calming sedative in these times of strife. Of all the places in Faërieland there were to be he had never wanted for any other place than Trumboo. Oh sure, many Trumb had moved on to Sygus or Rensrick or even Bolaméa. But he had found that Trumboo provided for all his needs. From the day he had walked straight up Renéfreë Street, right up to the center of town and looked upon the statue of General Trout, he knew that the military life was for him. What better place to be? You get all the machines, all the cars, all the weapons, all the cool acronyms; GLT, IMA, FSC, spoken and understood by all in the military like their own private language, real covert stuff like super spy extraordinaire Jem Frond. How cool was that? Yes, of course the girls all looked at you, handsome in your crisp greens, dashing in your royal blues, creased and polished to a fault. These things he really enjoyed! This tedious bean counting was not for him, more like being an accountant than a military officer. But hey, he's not one to complain. Wouldn't do any good anyhow. Staff Sergeant Spliff was after all a professional; would go the distance, stay the course, make the grade, win the war. This is what officers did. Not count beans and tally ledgers. So what was he so worked up about? Change. Plain and simple: Change. Hated it, hated it, hated it! If it works don't fix it, that's his philosophy. In his view the system already in place worked just fine. Take inventory, account personnel, monitor the com channels, requisition as needed, etcetera, etcetera. All was a simple matter of simplicity, quite simply so. Keep things simple. An officer doesn't need to muddy his mind with noise, that's what he called it, noise. All these pointless details. Just a whole bunch of noise.

What would he do? Hey. Maybe a little fly-by would take the edge off, loosen him up a bit. It had been awhile since he piloted a Fighter Wasp. But he could handle it. Comes right back to you like riding a flycycle. So his mind was made up. Off to Hangar 12 to find his Beauty!

*****

Acorns rained down from above as the Berrifinn launched their opening salvo. No intruder was safe. If their territory were invaded it would need to be a sturdy opponent for no one but the sturdiest could endure the showering acorn assault.

Lux wallowed in glum thoughts as he hid under his pile of burdock leaves, not realizing that his un-clever ploy deceived no one. He had heard tales of the Berrifinn but had simply written them off as mythology, not worthy of any rational belief. He had never believed until now. You can easily see he was a quick and willing convert.

From beneath the safety of his shelter he could see out across the Aïon Plains clear to the coast of Brodiaëa. If he were holed up there long enough, he might even hear the whoops and hollers of the legendary Brodiaëian war dance. However, if he did happen to witness that particular legend he would be only too glad to remain out of sight under his shelter. But as it was he was hoping only that the fusillade pummeling him from above would soon stop. He was also hoping that Jaynie was safe wherever she had run off to. Nobody had asked him if he wanted to baby-sit. Now she had run off and he was under attack, and by his whiskers he would cower his way out of yet another scuffle.

The Berrifinn were a remnant of the Quinnish nations, who, flying before the conquering weapons of the Asåe, sought the most retired regions of the north, and there endeavored to hide themselves from their eastern invaders. They were so small that if caught in a shower of rain or attacked by an enemy, they would stand beneath a burdock leaf for shelter, or flee thither to hide. No strangers to the burdock leaf defense were these proud and irascible Berrifinn.

The two warriors, a fierce lot who wore helmets which represented beasts, stepped to the edge of their promontory and scanned the grounds below them.

"What say you, Crox?"

"Don't know."

"See anything moving?"

"Can't say that I do. Only see a sad pile of burdock leaves. But nobody's dumb enough to use that un-clever ploy."

"Yup. Idiots born everyday though. Maybe it's gone."

"Maybe."

"Time for lunch then?"

"Uh huh!"

The warriors, weary from the long acorn assault, were satisfied the danger had been neutralized and so took pause for lunch. Today they had packed moss and hickory bark sandwiches so they were only too happy to pause.

"Hey Crox. You like this SparkleBlue stuff?"

Crox looked up from his sandwich, his mouth bursting with moss drippings and hickory bark crumbs.

"Yeah. Isch gveat schtufff," he mumbled through his food.

"Okay then. I've got two. One for me one for you," said Blodge.

As the two lunch absorbed warriors attended to their lunch, the tired, bedraggled Lux, seeing that the offensive had stopped, stepped out from beneath his shelter. Straight up through the trees he could see the clear blue sky through the boring holes. As he scanned the surroundings from left to right, right to left, then back again, he could detect no sign or clue to anywhere these acorns might have been launched from as if his assailant was invisible. He picked an acorn up to take a look at it. Proof positive, he had not been imagining these things and they sure seemed more rock-hard than any acorns he could remember. Still, mystery or no he was glad it was over. His legs needed a good stretch after being compressed for so long. He slowly made his way past the lobster claw bush and the giant mushroom patch as he made for the pond. Hiding sure took a lot of work and it sure had made him thirsty.

He approached the pond slowly, taking one more look overhead first, then bent down to scoop his hands in for a drink of water.

A shout, a shock:

"Hey! You think you can just reach into someone's home and take a drink?"

The loud angry voice jolted him from his reverie. When he looked up, directly in front of him he saw a large black toad with its arms akimbo and staring him down with a threatening glare.

"Oh. Sorry. Didn't know anyone lived here."

"Suppose he thinks he's the only living creature around these parts. Oh these self important bipeds!" said the toad, speaking to himself in the third person as he often did. One was never sure if he was speaking to one or an invisible third entity.

"Now see here! I said I was sorry. No need to go on insulting me."

"Isn't that a howl? Horse head sticks his hand in another critter's home to catch a drink, not even asking mind, and he's upset about a little name calling. He should thank his lucky oats that I didn't unleash a barrage of acorns on him."

"Acorns? Was that you then?"

"Now what is he on about?" said the toad to the invisible one.

"Was it you who was just unloading a fusillade of acorns on my head while I was wandering through the forest?"

"Probably another satisfied customer no doubt. Sorry to say I can't take responsibility for that stroke of pure genius. Seems you offend wherever you go."

"Look. I've done nothing wrong here. Just an honest mistake, I—"

"Toss it, bubble head. We've heard it all before. Excuses, excuses, excuses. First commit a heinous offense then offer pathetic excuses."

"Right. Sorry for the inconvenience. I'll be on my way."

Lux stood up and turned to leave.

"Bet he's going over to the mushroom fields to rattle their cage a bit," said the toad.

"No doubt. On a tour of revolving misery, he is," said the toad, again speaking to that invisible third entity.

"I hear that," said Lux

"I hear that, I hear that, I hear that," droned the toad in a biting singsong mockery.

The toad's retort echoed into the forest and receded into the background as Lux walked deeper into the forest. First the acorn attack and now this! He just couldn't believe what a nasty creature that toad was. Didn't do much to make Lux feel welcome. He felt like the only dung beetle at an all-black beetle party. Maybe visiting the mushroom fields was not such a good idea as he had thought. He'd hate do accidentally commit another offense and get on their bad side as well.

The enchanted forest was certainly turning out to be a quite treacherous and not at all enchanting place. And he had always thought of the enchanted forest as a place of peace and tranquility. Never had he conceived of the possibility that it could be a place where territoriality and bellicosity were the primary expedients. Having his understanding changed in so brutal a manner caused him to alter his course. Time to get out of the forest forthwith. Time to get back to the land of pleasant dwarves with shaggy beards and eyebrows and bald heads.

"Some more tea then?"

"Thank you, yes."

"I say. A glorious day we're having."

"Agreed. Most superlative!"

"Oh, superlative! Superlative! Superlative! I just love that word. And how is that most superlative acquaintance of yours, Fling I believe?"

"I seem to have lost track of him. One minute he was here and the next minute he clean dropped out of sight."

"Like Alice down the rabbit hole."

"Quite. Anything's possible. Still, I do miss him."

Lux froze in his tracks. He couldn't believe his ears. Mannered and cultured conversation coming from the direction of the daffodil fields. Could it be? Is it possible there were others about beside the barbaric missing link types he had met so far? He put his caution aside and stepped into the daffodil field, careful to push each one aside so as not to step on their stems, edging closer and closer to the voices he had heard. When he had gone in as far as he dared he stopped and looked at the daffodil right in front of him.

"Oh look! A Giant Rodent!"

Sitting at a small dainty table on the daffodil's petals were two celosian ladybugs raising teacups to their mouths.

"A toast to you, oh Giant!"

They clinked their cups together, took a sip of tea and sat back with satisfied buggy expressions on their faces. Lux smiled. He was about to move his lips to speak when one of the ladybugs held up a cautioning hand.

"If you must speak do so quietly as your Giant voice may hurricane blast us from our tea service."

Lux nodded his assent then held his hand over his mouth and began in a whisper.

"Hello. My name is Lux Diameter."

"Hello Lux Diameter, Pleased to meet you. I am Amaryllis and this is Aquilegia."

Aquilegia stared in wide eyed surprise. "Why do you cover your mouth, oh Lux."

"I cover my mouth to avoid my exhalations from blasting you away."

Aquilegia seemed pleased.

"Oh what a well-mannered Giant! Can we purchase him Amaryllis?"

"One does not simply go around purchasing creatures," said Amaryllis. "Well-mannered or not."

"Oh." said Aquilegia, in a disappointed tone. "What about that elf mummsie bought for us? Wasn't he just spiffy?"

"Those were different times," said Amaryllis.

"Yes. But wasn't he?"

"Wasn't he?"

Spiffy.

"Are you still on about that elf?"

"Oh that is so charming! I'm positively enchanted! Okay, a new game. You say "wasn't he" and I say "spiffy."

"Right now?"

"Yes, right now."

"Wasn't he?"

"Spiffy?"

"Wasn't he?"

"Spiffy?"

"Wasn't he?"

"Spiffy?"

"Okay now, Aquilegia. We do after all have company."

"So right, so true. That Giant we're going to purchase."

"I told you. Those were different times."

"Oh bother! Nostalgia is not what it used to be."

"Hey, Lux. You wouldn't happen to be looking for me, wouldja?"

Popping out of the bushes Jaynie scared the bejesubottoms out of him. He stood with his head shaking and his whiskers wriggling to beat the band.

"Yes, Princess. I knew where you were the whole time. Just giving you your space."

"Giving me my space? Oh puhleez! You had no clue where I was....didja?"

"Not so, actually. I most definitely—"

"And you were scared scared terrified and shaking and ready to wet yourself."

"Ready to what? Is this proper behavior for a princess? I'll have you know—"

"Save, it rat boy. Are you gonna figure out how to get to General Wolfbiscuit, or do I have to go airborne and find out myself."

Of all the taunts that could be launched at any given time, the one, the killer, the mother of all taunts, was one that hinted—let alone outright accused—that the contributions of Lux were so insignificant that someone else could do better. Someone like Jaynie; renegade faërie princess and taunt vixen extraordinaire.

"Now Princess, please. Let us not lose our heads over a slight....delay in execution. Yes, we are a bit off track. Yet, I assure you, we are moments away from an illuminating discovery which will let us know we were never off track at all. I wage my whiskers on it."

"EEUW! Wage your whiskers? That is like so totally make-me-gag gross. Who in flippin' fahrquar would want your booger catchers."

"Let me assure you, it is merely an expression."

"And let me assure _you_ , booger boy, I don't need your whiskers or assurance. How about this?"

Her wings began flapping a windstorm and in a smack second she was twenty feet overhead, gazing far into the spectral distance. Lux started running in circles waving his arms overhead as if he were attempting to bat down a fly herd. Jaynie had never before realized until she was able to flutter and fly, how truly lovely, stupendously lovely, the Sörmlandian universe was. So intoxicated by the view, and ignoring Lux who was yelling and circling and babbling like a loon, she went higher and higher until Lux was no more than a dust speck in the distance. And from her newfound height she could clearly make out not very far away a great commotion of bodies, and machines, and things too numerous to grasp, moving in a manner very suggestive of military exercises. Military exercises? General Wolfbicuit maybe. Or not. At any rate, a large group that at the very least commanded her attention. Then the words of Lux popped into her head, "...an illuminating discovery which will let us know we were never off track at all."

Okay, so maybe the silly rat was not as stupid as he looked. Though that was not saying much. Stupid is as stupid does, it is said. And this is not a Hollywood movie. This is the outer perimeter of Bóldår, premiere military compound at the edge of Faërieland.

*****

"Nunga, nunga, nunga!"

"Yes, Gristle. I agree. But first we should—"

"Nunga, nunga, nunga," replied Gristle, in a significantly harsher tone.

"Listen up now, soldier. Just because you are a Chisabolter does not give you license to be rude."

"Nunga."

"Glad we agree. Now..."

How one kept track of conversations with Gristle, was unclear to the observer. It seemed that he was either unwilling or incapable of uttering anything but some variation of nunga. And while vocal inflection and facial expression contributed somewhat to an understanding, from the perspective of the observer the communication appeared a tomfoolery. But make no mistake about it, tomfoolery it was not. And Gristle, a proud member of the Chisabolter nation, was not a character given to frivolity. In fact, there is only one recorded moment where he so much as laughed as best as can be determined by the aforementioned facial expression slash vocal inflection combination. It was a moment immediately subsequent to the last Môrlåteeden war, when realizing victory was theirs, he threw his rather massive column worthy arms into the air—this reaction seems a universal response—uttering a guttural "nun, nun, nun," accompanied by something that can best be termed a smirk. So not a laugher, but at this point a one-time grunting smirker.

Jaynie burst upon the scene like a rabid meerkat, waving arms and yammering so much that both Gristle and his companion took a step back, eyes wide and jaws dropped in disbelief.

"Okay...okay, military dudes. I need to see General Wolfbiscuit. Right now."

"Excuse me, ma'am. The General is in a meeting and—"

"A meeting? A meeting? What is it with you adult people that you must always be in a meeting. Does anybody ever to ANYTHING besides just talk?"

"Nunga nunga nunga."

Realizing that a crisis moment was brewing, the soldiers immediately adopted defense positions. Gristle, for his part, stood stock still directly in front of her, arms straight down at his sides with clenched fists. Dolack, dove behind a boulder outcropping and hit the ground with his weapon drawn. If this represented the training and decorum of the standing army, Jaynie could understand why her help was needed.

"Uh look...guys," she said, slathering on the female charm. "Please excuse my outburst. I am really scared and was told the General is always happy to assist a woman in despair."

As outbursts go, on the scale of Jaynie one to Jaynie ten, this particular outburst registered at maybe two or three. Had she come at them with her more typical outburst: arms waving, hair flying, eyes raging, cussing like a sailor, she may have been gunned down. After all, these are military personnel. A group who like those of the law enforcement ranks will draw and fire if they feel threatened. Threat being a dangerously arbitrary term.

Dolack, desiring as much as any guy to be the knight in shining armor, immediately rose and flanked Gristle. "Well, ma'am. As we said he is in a meeting. A very important meeting. The one where we decide—"

He stopped himself realizing he was ready to give too much away to a complete stranger who, though most feminine and enchanting, could be one of BUGM's lagmen in disguise. Though she appeared un-laglike, a soldier could never be too quick to grant his trust.

"It's a very top TOP secret meeting. Perhaps I can relay a message."

"A message? Yes. Tell him Princess Jaynie is here to see him and tell him Princess Jaynie is royally pissed that she has been ungraciously excluded from the battle plan proceedings especially since this is the whole reason she's here to begin with. Okay, soldier?"

"Oh, oh...My apologies Princess. I am as blinded by duty as I am, if I may be so bold, by your stunning beauty. Yes, yes. Immediately. Immediately on my way."

There are times when one opens their eyes as if for the first time and realizes they have been moving in a fog or fugue as it were, loping along oblivious to all around when suddenly they are struck by an emotional thunder blast and understand their place in the scheme of things. This moment of clarity had just come to Jaynie when she not only realized the impact her manner had on those around her, but also the benefit of beauty and the power inherent in position. She had known for quite some time now that she was a princess, but never having been raised and groomed as such she was completely unaware the incumbent benefits. She had only to declare her royal status—something she would later find was quite unnecessary—to put the soldier in motion as if she had lit a fire under his feet. This was for Dolack anyway. Gristle, stoic as ever, simply stood where he was like a statue.

"At ease, soldier," said Jaynie, using the only military command she could remember from television. This would come to be called "Militarius Imposturous."

"Nunga nunga nunga."

"Thanks are appreciated but unnecessary."

"Nunga nunga nunga. Nunga. Nunga nunga."

"I am glad to meet you too, Gristle. And yes, you may bow."

Gristle, for a creature that looked more architectural pillar than supple creature, executed an elegant, refined, completely respect laden bow that was as unbelievable for the sheer mechanics involved as it was artistically brilliant. Jaynie felt her eyes welling with tears.

"Oh...that was so...."

"Nunga nunga?"

"No, I'm not sad. Just very happy."

"Nunga nunga nunga, nunga nunga."

"Yes it is confusing. It's just the way girls ARE."

"Nunga?"

"Yes, all girls."

Jaynie had found something of a kindred spirit in Gristle. Kindred in the sense of a conversational style short and to the point with little of frippery and pretense. Geez, if he didn't look so much like a large building block, she might find him...Uhm. And even...yes, yes yummy...No, not that. This is not the proper line of thought for a princess.

When Jaynie was finally brought before the General, she was awestruck and mucho mucho impressed by what she saw. The pathway to the rather massive monolithic building was flanked on either side by thick bramble bush approximations that couldn't be very pleasant to become entangled in. Maybe she was going to see Sleeping Beauty. Were this a fairy tale and were she not at least metaphorically sleeping beauty, she could well have been on her way to wake this sleeping girl. The bramble bush hedge work appeared formidable indeed. Her awe was further rewarded as she entered the building; Command Central. Steel fixtures, doors, weapons displays, electronic entry keypads, the works. Like something from James Bond. Then the elevator. This contraption moved so fast and rocked so much as it raced along that had she not been to Magic Mountain and rode Colossus, she would have nothing to compare it too. She was a big fan of roller coasters. She was not, she just realized, a fan of boxlike enclosures that propelled you at roller coaster speeds and rocked as if falling apart. Most definitely not. Especially boxlike enclosures that allowed you a 360° view of the world around you as it propelled you to who knows where. Didn't these elevator things require tracks and pulleys and all kind of visible elements?

She was going to be sick.

The War Room. This was something she thought was only in movies. If this is where meetings were held for offices like presidents and such, she could almost understand the attraction. Except this was not a room for presidents and such. It was a Bóldår approximation of what they imagined a meeting place for highly official top secret military business should look like. Very much like the bramble bushes that lined the pathways, the War Room was engendered by the imaginarium where all images and facsimiles of human creation, imaginary or otherwise were housed. An imagination bank if you will. In fact, the War Room was a copy of the one used in the movie _Doctor Strangelove_. Humans were, in at least a trifling way, useful. Images were borrowed from the imaginarium and used as needed to fill out the landscaping and architectural needs. Also, when someone from Upplandia visited, a rare and mostly forbidden practice, the inclusion of instantly familiar elements offered a modicum of comfort. Though sometimes, as in the 360° bullet train speed invisible elevator, they took human imaginings to the next level. Or any number of levels above. When dealing with creatures to whom magical interplay is as common as breathing one is ever amazed at what they see. Other times, one gets sick to the stomach.

"Princess," said General Wolfbiscuit with a grand bow. "We had been eagerly anticipating your arrival but were informed that your trip to Bóldår had been ruled superfluous."

Jaynie was about to open her mouth and reply when she noticed in the room behind the General, a stone faced Móam. Why did he look so unhappy?

"Unnecessary? I beg to differ General. No such ruling was made," countered Jaynie, suddenly sounding very official. "I have been since I arrived in Sörmlandia en route to join the war effort."

"My apologies, Princess. I had been informed by my sources that your trip had been summarily diverted due to—"

"Diverted? Okay. Somebody is peddling untruths," she said, her eyes drifting over to focus directly on Móam. "And I have a pretty good idea who that somebody is."

Móam visibly shook and shuffled in place.

"Ah, a cunning warrior indeed. Your reputation precedes you. So, may I be so bold as to ask who among the insurgent scum you have identified as the crusty dog who would sully the name and title of your most royal post?"

It might be fair to call Jaynie, one of the highest rated females on the planet, the Anna Kournikova of the faërie set since her results had not yet lived up to the hype.

"You certainly may. Though you may be surprised to find that the scurvy dog you seek is not an insurgent at all, but that person over there," she said, aiming her eyes and pointing finger at her target. "The person over there called Móam."

Yet there are times when performance meets hype and trump is thrown.

"Sergeant Riáhssa Móam? Front and center Sergeant."

Riáhssa Móam schlumped forward like a scolded puppy. Tail between its legs and eyes to the ground.

"These are rather serious charges, Sergeant. How do you plea?"

"Insanity, Sir."

"Insanity?"

"Yessir. I saw the princess and she made me crazy."

This would come to be called "The Cleavage Reaction." The General shook his head as if gobsmacked.

"Are you telling me, that your hormones are so beyond your control that the mandated social customs do not satisfy your needs and thus drive you to refer to the princess as if she were a common yoorilah? And then, beyond the supreme insult to her gender and title, you conspire to keep her from appearing here as planned?"

"Yessir."

"Well that is quite a mouthful you're telling me, Sergeant. Quite a mouthful indeed."

Jaynie flipped her hair as if she was putting on the flirt and raised her hand to get the General's attention. "Excuse me, General. Can I interrupt? You can handle this issue with Sergeant Móam as you wish, of course. For my part I just want to be sure that my understanding is correct regarding my part in the battle plan."

"If your understanding is that you will wield the Förstlånd saber and lead the charge, then it is correct. This was settled long ago by ancient decree. This of course is at your discretion."

"Sir?" said Móam, his voice quavering like a scared two-year old. "I was thinking that, well, since the princess is royal, that maybe someone else, someone like me perhaps, someone who really hates BUGM could lead the charge instead. Bring vengeance down upon him like—"

"Enough babbling Sergeant. You sound like the damn Moonacoochie River. If this is offered by way of explaining your actions beyond the pitiful attempt at the insanity plea, I find no basis beyond simple ego. It is clearly written that one of royal blood alone can lead the charge into Ströndôkkar. It is the law. Yet despite your amended plea, you are nonetheless in deep kaka"

"Excuse me again, General? I'm not familiar with this law you refer to? Of course I'm not familiar with any laws and customs in Sörmlandia? Well, except one custom which you kinda mentioned when you just told Móam about his hormones and the social traditions? I'm like, kinda new here?" said Jaynie, whose nervous habit of yammering uncontrollably under stress was not one of her most appealing traits.

The General shook his head in profound confusion, stymied by Jaynie's degeneration to this perpetual question speak coupled with babbleitis. He may have thought he had seen it all with Móam behaving like a child and now the princess was babbling like a tora monkey.

"Princess," began the General, maintaining strict decorum and restraint. "No doubt there is much to learn during your time here. Be assured that all will be disclosed as needed. As to the law I was just referring to, it is a law written in the Ancient Book of Tomes. A book with which our resident wizard is most proficient. For the comprehensive answer to this and other questions of laws ancient and otherwise you are best referred to him. He has been eagerly awaiting your return to Sörmlandia."

*****

"As beauty must in drapery be swathed so too with royal raiment shall the Förstlånd saber be joined. Only one pure of spirit and intent may its power wield."

"Wow! So this big fat book has all kinds of creepy sorcerer stuff, huh?"

"One should take care when referring to the Book of Tomes. It is indeed a "big fat book" as you say, in your oddly juvenile parlance, an extremely powerful and irascible big fat book. That is to say, if one makes it angry one should beware."

"Oh, come on. You want me to believe this book is alive? You're just making up this creepy stuff to scare me."

"Would that I were, Princess. Yet even to jest of such things is to make light of one's safety. As the ancient book is abounding with rules, decrees and enchantments, it is also possessed of the power to use them autonomously."

"Oh puhleez!"

"A doubting shamus," said Ôtar. "Perhaps a demonstration would win you over to the side of belief."

"Right. Like that _stupid_ book—"

No sooner did the words leave her mouth than a red hot heat ray blasted from the open pages of the book searing the ground directly in front of her, millimeters away from her ten little piggies. An innocent beetle was the unhappy recipient of the wrath of Tome.

"What the %&#*$%#*!!"

"I had planned something more mundane, but the "s" word is among those the book loathes most of all. Something about academic pride."

"A book with an attitude! I thought you were yanking my crank."

Ôtar was the picture of perplexity. "Yanking your crank? Another idiosyncratic expression no doubt."

"I'm not really sure what you just said with all those college boy words but if you were asking what I meant when I said, _yanking my crank_ , I meant I thought you were pulling my leg."

Jaynie appeared swiftly pleased at having navigated this lexiconic minefield quite agilely. She stayed pleased until she noticed the flabbergasted look coming back at her from Ôtar.

_Okay, Back up Jaynie. Expressions 101._ "I meant you were fooling with me, putting me on, sending me up, mocking me, playing me for a fool. I can't think of any others..."

"That is quite sufficient. Thank you for the elucidation."

"Damn! There you go again. Don't you know any normal words?"

"It is but my mode of communication, Princess."

_Like a runaway train._ "Okay, look. If you're going to like instruct me and stuff either I have to become a walking dictionary, or you, since you're obviously much smarter than me, need to use simpler words when we talk. Agreed?"

Ôtar scratched at his beard and nodded rhythmically, keeping time with the trill of a distant drum, a manner with which Jaynie would become well acquainted.

"To which part?"

Jaynie threw up her arms in frustration and shook her head in defeat. "Oh crikey! This is going to be an effin' long process..."

*****

Jaynie was solidly of the opinion that somewhere along the road to become highly educated, a certain part of the brain went dormant and stayed sleeping like a subway drunk. Or maybe, despite all outward appearances otherwise, deep within those highly educated is a cunningly concealed vein of stupidity. To excavate that mineshaft a team of real people would be necessary; beer guzzling flannel wearing belching and cussing people. Let us not forget farting, the last thrown in for its obvious appeal across cultural and national boundaries. If you doubt that, take a look around the next time you or someone around you lets one fly. There will be at least a smattering of giggles, gurgles, guffaws, sniggers, smiling eyes and a barely suppressed variety of all the above.

Thankfully Jaynie was a quick study lest the process of bringing her up to speed take her to the next Ice Age. Due to the aforementioned intelligentsia divide, the gulf was slashed so wide between shores the road to progress was if not smooth and effortless, at least rocky and navigable. We're talking Carbiners Quickdraws Rope Harness and Rappelling Gear navigable. Maybe even a Grappling Hook for good measure.

Yikes!

At least Jaynie had her youthful health going for her because her brain bank was sweating up a monsoon of precipitation to make King Tsunami proud. If not for the services of nearby Moonacoochie River the schtink would be more than her little princess and the pea nose could bear. Keep in mind, the term little is not applied gratuitously. She did in fact have a super cute little pixie nose. No surprise there. It was among the features that gained her the ardent praise of many. Usually in whispered-secret handshake-back slapping-beer hall kinds of ways, with the occasional lewd crude commendations and phone number scrawled on the restroom wall (which she claims were placed there by a guy she never was with, in that or any other way, plus it was most definitely NOT her number); shortly after making this claim the scrawling episodes decreased from scantily few to none at all. Subsequent to this time of crude comments scrawled and vehemently discredited a weasely and scrawny looking boy was seen limping across the school campus holding a large wad of tissue to his nose. Coincidence?

Repeat. She received passionate praise and some aforementioned other kinds for among other things her super cute little pixie nose; that and her always set-to-stun sexuality. Jaynie Morrison: starship Enterprise phaser supreme. All within the expected range of activities in the so-the-drama life of a teenage girl. And for the record, she has quite a stellar left hook...

The longer she stayed in Sörmlandia and at the moment Bóldår, the further removed she was from episodes of crudely scrawled commentary. She was not however, and hoped never to be, entirely free of the male interactions which were equally the source of boundless joy and extreme aggravation. In this domain were the good, the bad, and the ugly, with the ugly primarily taking the form of not physically ugly, but morally repugnant, a term most appropriately applied to the cad and bounder, and sometimes the unrepentant Lothario.

Little did she know she was very very extremely lucky in the matter of drawing duds as it were. For the most part her liaisons though few were wonderfully salutary. Were they otherwise, she would at the least be clearly out of the running for entirely pure of spirit and intent. Enough kludging through the swampland that is love gone wrong engenders a sheer impossibility to see the world with new eyes. The once sweet fruit left to rot on the vine. Jaynie would be, were this her experience, far less quick to smile and far too willing to scowl, trudging through the excrement of too much shite at once for a girl so young. In fact she might never smile again. Just the thought of such malignancy is frightening. Thankfully this is not the case.

At the moment her hands were full with cross cultural communications and the finer points of blood lust. With a crash course in spells and curses. Now that she understood it behooves her to treat the Book of Tomes like the independent, animate, and powerful creature it is, life was far easier. At least as regards random heat ray blasts. Truly it is just a matter of respect; she respects it and it respects her; despite an unfavorable bias towards it and away from her. Could she launch the occasional heat ray the playing field might be leveled. For the time being, the only thing that stood a chance of being leveled was her.

And you know, once you got past the crusty exterior and irascible personality, the Book of Tomes was quite the multipurpose friend.

*****

Neemis, product of the depths of the unseelie court, spawn of the dark Queen Nerevin and Malegar. A most unholy trinity. Any who were unlucky enough to find themselves in the presence of any one of these three was in for a most gruesome ride. To be in the presence of all three: certain death. Not a thought or command issued from this dark throne that had a within it sliver of light.

From these quarters issued commands reeking of Hell itself. Much discussion was had concerning the blood-tithe. This payment due in full every 7 years in the form of one life. As the payment date neared the faërie world would often steal a stray mortal to avoid sacrificing one of their own. The dark court of the unseelie realm was not so particular, any faërie from the seelie court would do. Lo and behold how time flees. Again the time drew near to choose another gracious volunteer. Who would it be?

This question plagued the emotional landscapes of all in Faërieland as the time approached. Malegar had a few ideas, his ideas all centered around one particular candidate: Anahit. Seven years prior when the blood-tithe date arrived, Anahit had through some of her renowned trickery caused the unseelie court to deliver one of its own to death's chamber. Now he replayed in his twisted mind their last encounter, just three days ago:

"Is this about Thomas Kinkade?"

"And yet you dare to again speak that name to me. Foolish squab! It was yours to deliver him as payment of the tithe but instead you conspired to make a switch at the last. As he approached the fiery gate you set a swarm of bees on one of our own, my best soldier, sending him to flee in a blind panic and through the fiery gate in the stead of the mortal. For this you have won my eternal hatred. But this time there will be no 11th hour switch. For this time I will deliver the prey myself, the precious Anahit, cocooned in her iron cage. From my hands express to the fiery gates. It is a trip I am sure you will enjoy."

"I had nothing to do with those bees. Nothing at all!"

"Spare me your pathetic pleas. Your sentence has been passed."

"You can't go through with this, Malegar. You will be stopped by—"

Malegar stepped right up to her face, waving a long bony finger at her.

"And you sling my name about as if you were immune. Were you about to say, "the faërie?" They will have been dealt with long before then. Some in a glorious blaze, the remnant reduced to mindless slaves. Dominion will be mine!"

A fitting end indeed. She had forever been his Achilles Heel, always appearing where she was unwanted, unneeded. To Malegar her seeming inability to stay out of his way was reason enough for her demise. His plan was hatched five years ago and now it would be brought to fruition. He would deliver her to Hell himself. Special Delivery. Thank the dark lord Beelzebub for the pleasure. Stick around for a celebratory drink. Whatever it took. He had a name for his pain: Anahit!

He'd like to say as he left her to die that it was nice knowing her. But he'd be lying. Though it would be sardonically delicious! In the realm of the dark kingdom there is little cause for celebration. Oh sure, spear a faërie, feed a faërie to a troll, burn a faërie in the fire pit. Some one track obsessions were a joyful affliction. They were indeed moments of supreme bliss.

But the extermination of Anahit had been his all consuming passion for a long, long time. And finally he had found a way. All bad things to those who wait.

Humans were so easy, so stupid, so trustingly greedy. Finding a willing lackey was simple as sin. Promise them wealth, fame, and sundry other things delectable and you'll have them lining up like pigs to the slaughter.

Of course he'd never let slip the real payoff. His most delicious moment of all! And this final moment was quickly arriving. Anahit had been imprisoned in his personally designed iron cell for the last 5 years. He knew when he nabbed her he had plenty of time before her end as the blood-tithe was not due for another 7 years. But being a stickler for details he saw no need to wait. As the master puzzle-smith he would not wait till the last to capture his prize piece.

The idiots he had standing guard did well enough in keeping her. And of course, weak creatures that they are, they had asked for concessions while awaiting their payoff. In a moment of rare generosity he restrained himself from informing them they were in no position to ask for anything. Surrounded by weaklings! They wanted to do things to her: torture, mutilation, offensive animal acts. Anything to satisfy their putrid longings. Malegar didn't mind their perversions, he demanded only one thing: she must be kept alive. Doing that for Malegar will be the completion of their task.

Yet he knew that all of the exuberance of completing their task would immediately flee when he told them about the Bonus Plan. You see, deals are made in the shadowy corridors of the underworld on a routine basis. The rules of engagement are chiseled in stone. If all of Faërieland was one's desire, the dark lord would grant it. All one need do was deliver the blood-tithe and two humans into the dark lord's hands. Anahit would be that luscious tithe.

This last bit he would share with his human swine when he came to collect his quarry.

As he whisked them all away, the humans crying and screaming at their deception, Malegar would smile his widest most benevolent smile and deliver his coup de gras, "Sorry boys. You got the Bonus Plan! Ha, ha, ha ..."

*****

Every morning upon waking Queen Anahit performed her kiss the morning sky rituals. First a long stretch, a melodious sigh, a happy thought, a quizzical smile. Once finished with these she would roll to her left and perform them again. Then roll to her right and do the same. Within these seemingly redundant moves were contained the secret to eternal cheerfulness and fertility. Much along the lines of the healthy mind healthy body principle. Therefore she performed them with diligence and glee as she has for all the centuries of her life.

One may wonder how she could first of all have been performing these things for centuries and how she could be cheerful about anything given that she was in captivity. Not just captivity of a common sort. Aggressive diabolical hellaciously restricting captivity of the Malegarian sort. This indeed is a perplexing quandary. So right, so true. For human comprehension. In the faërie world life ticks by at a different pace, to a different tambala you might say, leading us back to the very origins of the phrase "hearing the sound of a different drummer." How she could do that is easily understood by discerning the root cause: philosophy.

_In individuals, insanity is rare; but in groups, parties, nations and epochs, it is the rule._ -Friedrich Nietzsche

It is said that among all things dangerous and deadly in the human world is the one that stands most prominently as the single catalyzing element that quickly turns bad thought to malicious action. A heated conversation leads to fisticuffs. A prejudicial confrontation turns to blood. A grand unifying philosophy added to either begets a breathing, pulsing, living thing whose sole purpose is to carry out a plan of annihilation, genocide. The same kind of thing we have seen in anything from the Great Crusade of the Dark Ages to the Nazi desecration of the Twentieth Century. When applied to a group, a solitary act of violence is quickly multiplied as it touches all members producing as psychology terms it "group insanity." Actions that one would not undertake alone are done without thought, repeat: without thought, within a group. It is this matter of a group racing forward with its own twisted logic that justifies each act no matter how heinous, each act righteously codified by the reigning philosophy that lends the element of sheer terror.

Conversely, a group philosophy founded upon salutary thought is one of phenomenal power whose group psychosis is equally contagious. Smile and the world smiles with you. Thought leading action. Perhaps this black and white portrayal of such opposing philosophies is brutal, but nonetheless accurate.

This long winded description is for the purpose of illustration. Were Anahit possessed of the first or "negative thought" philosophy her time of captivity would each day be a step from suicide or revolutionary overthrow. As she is possessed of the second or "positive thought" philosophy her captivity is nothing more than a temporary excursion into inhospitable lands that nonetheless impart beauty if one only looks. This is not to say the hideous nasties are nowhere to be found. They are to be found anywhere she may look. Though since she looks for them not; if they seek her attention they will need to step up their efforts. To this point the little nasties have been seen at the city's edge. It is rumored they have fallen off the edge and into the sea. Bummer!

CLINK...CLINK...RATTLE...RATTLE

While it is likely the little nasties have fallen off the city's edge, their brothers in bedlam, the hideosities, are ever present. Most especially at feeding time.

"Come now little doggy. Daddy has your chow. Kissy kissy kissy!"

"Good morning to you, Lugnut. I see you're in fine fettle."

"Huh?"

"I mean, you are happy, yes?"

"Oh, yeah. Happy that I'm out here. And you're in there."

"Well that is a very pleasant thought. Thank you."

"Don't mention it.

"I've just risen from sleep as you can see, and was about to perform my ablutions when you clinked."

"Your WHAT?!"

"Ablutions. Cleaning, scrubbing, mouth rinsing, hair brushing—"

"Naked making?"

"Oh Lugnut. You are the jokester."

"Joking? I wasn't joking. How 'bout gettin' naked fer me. You think I'm happy now, you ain't seen nothin' yet."  
"Oh my. Yes, I am aware of your desires. Yet as a queen and moreso lady, the type of affair you propose is...how should I phrase it... Private?"

"C'mon honey. You can show ME. I ain't gonna tell."

"Of this I am most certain."

"So then. You gonna?"

Anahit knew that neither he nor anyone could enter her cell or cage as it were without her permission. One of the curious contradictions about Malegar. He wanted so desperately to demolish her yet at the same time he allowed her a shred of humanity. It was most likely an echo of their earliest meeting. Love does not die it only transforms. By the same token there is so ever a thin line separating love and hate. The wellspring of passion.

The true man wants two things: danger and play. For that reason he wants woman, as the most dangerous plaything. - Friedrich Nietzsche

"This would require some thought."

Lugnut smirked, appearing like he thought he was on the way to buck naked inspiration. Yet this was the queen he was attempting to snare, the Faërie Queen, as wily a character as he was likely to meet. He stuffed his hands into his front pockets wiggling his fingers a bit suspiciously. Thankfully Anahit had her eyes elsewhere.

"Lugnut, she cooed, if you were to let me out to where you stand the possibilities multiply exponentially..."

"What? No way, slut. You got something to show me do it from there. I'll show my appreciation from here."

"Hmm...I can SEE that." Okay, evidently her eyes were NOT elsewhere. "I am ever sorry that your appreciation has reached a shriveling end."

"A WHAT? Are you referrin' to my—"

"I am merely referring to the dwindling of your possibilities."

"You lost me."

"If you let me out to where YOU are your possibilities may rise to new heights."

A glow came to Lugnut's eyes that seemed to declare his certainty that she was making vague reference to his manhood. Apparently he did not realize he was out of his depth in more ways than one.

"So I let you out here and you give me some?"

"The possibilities multiply exponentially."  
"Listen sister—"

"Exponentially," she murmured ever so sweetly, the vaguest whisper of a wink present for anyone paying close attention. Lugnut was paying extremely close attention as all lust driven creatures would. This she knew. This she exploited fully.

"I'm not supposed to do this and if—"

"Dwindling...dwindling..."

"Okay, bitch. Here you go."

With that heartfelt roar of animal bravery Lugnut jammed his key into the lock. The heavy iron door sprung open as if a force of wind had propelled it. In an instant Anahit was directly in front of him, action that happened so fast Lugnut stumbled backwards and came crashing down. Anahit tilted her head to the side and considered this, looking as if stunned that he had fallen backwards. But she had a good idea why. Not only was she extremely beautiful and seductive, she was also loaded with faërie juju. That alone was enough to blast anyone backwards at her approach. In this particular case though, it was more to do with Lugnut's weakened state as a result of his overpowering lust combined with his absolute terror over being as frightening close to one as magnificently beautiful as she. After all, she was an historically codified representation of love and fertility. Additionally, she had that one quality that all the beautiful and magnificently beautiful possessed; the ability to scare the bejeesus out of most mortal men when it came to wooing them. She had heard it posed before that beauty is its own curse and this makes perfect sense when viewed from the standpoint of attracting male attentions. While most females attracted at least some attention, the extremely beautiful were so terrifyingly so that most males turned tail and fled when it came to approaching them. By the same token, where most males behaved this way, there were those few who did not, these few being the type who desired females of incredible beauty less for the obvious female attentions she could provide but more for the obvious male attentions having her as arm candy would provide: Bragging rights. In short, ego run rampant. What this all means and why it is significant at present has to do with the Lugnut episode. While he put up a tough front as though he were the alpha male, he was not nor would he ever be. So he talked a good game with his lewd crude allusions, but when it came right to it he was more apt to piss himself than anything else. For the aspect of his dignity he should be happy he was simply pushed backwards.

"Oh my," said Anahit. "It appears I have frightened you."

A scowl crossed Lugnut's face as he tried getting up to save face as gracefully as possible. "Don't flatter yourself, honey," he said, "I tripped."

"My mistake. So, can I touch it now?"

"I knew it. You play the sweet little virgin, but you're a slut after all. Ha ha ha! Sure, get ready to be plowed, whore," he said lunging toward her, one hand going to his zipper."

That was the last moment he would remember. Anahit had only to put up her hand to stop his advance and he had frozen in place. In a sense he had been knocked down by a feather. He would only remember the putting up of the hand part. Any fantasies he had entertained regarding her willingness to provide him sexual gratification in any shape, way or form, were fantasies destined to fizzle and die. Now she was faced with a bit of a quandary. Here she was outside of her cage again and what should she do? This particular scene had played out many times over, each time with her deciding to stay the course and go back inside. But why? One would think a prisoner consumed with escape a natural. Yet this was far from natural, far from simple, and far from explanation in human terms. In a sense, she had rather enjoyed certain aspects of her imprisonment. Had rather looked forward to those moments when her jailers attempted to satisfy their animal desires at her expense. As far as she was concerned they had the time, equipment, and motivation to take care of _themselves_ in that regard. Though this weakness allowed her some fun. If girls just want to have fun, Anahit was the mother of all fun seekers. Surrounded by the weakest creatures in existence, human males, her task was clear and simple and took no thought at all. Nature alone provided her the necessary gear. Her drastic beauty and magical abilities were like icing on the cake, though more like corn before wild turkeys. And keep in mind these are human males we are discussing. They were especially susceptible to her charms. Males in her homeland were easy as males go, but far more proficient in faërie folklore and faërie queen knowledge. While they might in the end succumb, they at least had a fighting chance.

Anahit was indeed a wondrous queen, a woman of many colorful expressions and attitudes. Along with her ravishing good looks and amazing sensibilities she had also the imagination storehouses of the entire faërie kingdom. That is a mighty powerful bit of imagining! Yet along with this was her also commendable ability to skate along in the throes of passionate sleep to a place where vivid dreams put her in hands-on touch with her surroundings. The scene with Lugnut would have played exactly as depicted. Would have, could have, and should have. If she were not dreaming. So her dream of fending off the drooling jailer was also mixed in with her deeply held longing for escape. This little dream sequence was part and parcel of her positive outlook mindset. An inner look into the mind of Queen Anahit.

Awaking to another glorious new day Anahit performed her kiss the morning sky rituals. First a long stretch, a melodious sigh, a happy thought, a quizzical smile. Once finished with these she would roll to her left and perform them again. Then roll to her right and do the same. Within these seemingly redundant moves were contained the secret to eternal cheerfulness and fertility. Much along the lines of the healthy mind healthy body principle. Therefore she performed them with diligence and glee as she has for all the centuries of her life.

This morning she had been left alone in her cave, the place where she was exposed to her jailers. They had the keys, they had the motivation, she had the lock they longed to open. That lock being her body. Too bad if they attempted to cross the threshold of her chambers without her express permission, they would receive a most unpleasant electric jolt. Most unfortunate indeed. Nevertheless, hope springing eternal, every day was the same dull game. They would stare. They would drool. They would touch themselves in frenzy. Then when they got nowhere with her they would storm away cussing to raise the dead. Some days she would trade jaunts with them. Other times, when their drollery was intolerable, she would sit at her stool and stare at the wall as if the most wonderful comedy was in performance for her pleasure alone, every few seconds erupting in marvelously cheerful laughter. This of course would send them into a raging tirade, running a litany at her of what they would do, how they would do it, how many times they would do it, and how many would be involved in unison. These small minded dimwits had a mighty high opinion of themselves.

Anahit had heard this all before just not in such graphic detail as most of those with whom she mingled were of a cultured less animal sort. She supposed in the world of humans this was the accepted mating ritual? Whatever the case she found it so gauche, repulsive. When she had eventually discovered the meaning of the barbarities they tossed at her she had gained a clear understanding of the phrase "the missing link." Human males evidently treated their females like beasts. Revolting! Worst of all, they expected the females to encourage and even appreciate such crude tactics. In her world was a type of female who willingly responded to such barbarities: yoorilah. Such females made their living in this way. The oldest profession in any world. Not the purview of ladies.

*****

Before Anahit had been whisked away into imprisonment, she had been in a blue funk. There she was a recent mother, happy as a clam at high tide, when the matter of transgression gobsmacked her. Leave it to Ôtar to set her straight. According to the ancient Book of Days, it is not only ill advised but illegal for faërie to mingle with let alone mate with humans. At the point in question Anahit was guilty on both counts. She knew this, was well aware from the outset. Her only defense being that when the biological clock ticks seismic a woman must respond. Swiftly. Having already taken stock of the available potential mates in her homeland, shipping them in so to speak from far and wide, she was convinced that she owed it to herself to at least consider going up top for a look-see. Being ripe as a late season grape placed her in a weakened state from which to proceed. In one sense, she was the proverbial cheap date. As all romance tinged affairs begin it seemed nanoseconds later she had met, laughed, nestled, cuddled and gone a clanning with one Wilbur Morrison, Will as he called himself, and a short nine later a nubbin sprang forth.

"Regrettably, my queen, this is transgression of ancient law. The penalty of which is banishment."

Hearing these words had put the fear of many things in her, all faceless, nameless, and with big troll teeth. There were stories of faerie sent down into Trollton to be skewered and roasted as troll feed. Sentences which she herself had passed for the crime of treason. Although these times were long ago in the time of the Môrlåteeden war, the images were indelibly impressed upon her soul. Now while banishment was but a smidge in comparison, her inner faërie felt them the same. In a sense, to leave the only land she had ever known, give up the incumbent powers and pleasures, the joys inherent, was no better to her than being made meal of the week. True this was hyperbole of the greatest sort. But emotional upset has its demons.

"Yet is there not a way Ôtar, whereby a queen may dash around such decrees?"

"Dash around? Are you suggesting evasion?"

"No. I was simply suggesting that to one so possessed of vast incalculable banks of knowledge and wisdom there was surely something, some obscure and rarely used passage within the ancient laws that allowed for certain "flexibility" with regards to mitigation of its literal application."

"A close reading of our two most sacred books may provide some measure of hope for this dilemma. I can make no promises as the law is absolute."

"Hope is all I seek. There is after all a child to consider in this."

Whether or not an "escape clause" would be found was a matter interrupted when Malegar stormed the castle. After that, imprisonment settled the matter. At least temporarily. Yet in time Anahit would need to face a tribunal and answer for her high crime.

*****

On a wide street of cultured lawns, a dog suffers a violent death, convulsing and choking, its blood gurgling to the cement of apathetic gloom. The wind drizzles through the willows. A pigeon lands on the dog's bony head, oblivious to the moment of its passing.

Downtown: dome robbers charge into the hollows, raging chaotic. Faces of the terrified melt into the shadows. Coins go mute in hungry pockets, hidden from slippery fingers. Sirens explode in the distance, authoritarian protocol screeching into the ebony sphere of night. Thin footsteps disappear down lonely alleys. Buildings tremble in silence. Upstairs on floor fifteen, a mother stands by the window nursing her infant, fearful of the night, fearful of the dawn, eyes soft and somber as boiled potatoes.

The heavy door slams open, shattering the silence of endearment. "For you. I'm here for you..." Mother screams, clutches baby, falls in a crumble. The shrouded figure at the door enters, advances, and descends upon the smoldering heap of young flesh. Teeth of yellow light scrape against the walls. The Great Mother of the Gods departs to South America...

While one may perceive this scene as one limited only the realms of Upplandia, one would be surprised to find that this scene is set not far from Faërieland, in the dark and sinister definitely to be avoided Ströndôkkar. Where Malegar runs free, trembling fear is close attendant. His ruthless drones run the environs terrorizing and brutalizing at his will. Idle hands are the devil's playground. Thus, equating Malegar with his better known parallel Satan, is apropos.

Beings with seemingly insatiable egos are absolutely convinced that their supreme qualities will only become apparent to the rest of the world if they are center stage where all eyes upon them will unequivocally proclaim them supreme. This scenario occurs every day in the Upplandian world, where anything from American Idol to America's Next Top Model seek to promote this perspective to exclusion. Something about getting one's fifteen minutes of fame. Yet there are some for whom fifteen minutes is not near enough. In fact, it is tantamount to supreme insult. Among this small but vocal minority is the ever un-beloved, Malegar, who much like his brother in misery, Satan, had the unmitigated audacity to proclaim to the supremely powerful universal God that he alone was rightful ruler of the cosmos. Well, as the story goes, Satan got his, was given dominance over Earth, taking all who wish to join his ranks; an equal opportunity association. Free will is the ever slippery slope. But Malegar, learning from his predecessor that power is the ultimate prize, escalated his power lust to the next level: he _stole_ his kingdom.

It is this kingdom stealing which is central to this tale, thus the key motivator and sin qua non. In the earlier time of Grezinere, Faërieland's first and only king, Dolmar, met a woman washing at the ford of the River Unshorn on Samhain night. This lovely woman was beautiful. The name of this woman was Kyrien. She told him that she represented the Sovereignty of Faërieland. Furthermore, for Faërieland to enjoy its wealth and fertility, it required a king to have sex with her: the Sovereignty Goddess of Faërieland. Dolmar slept with her, and she offered to aid him in the coming battle of Tramilline. For Faërieland to renew its prosperity and the fertility of the land, Dolmar was required to sleep with her each year on Samhain night. When he failed to show the next year on Samhain night, proving him to be a mere opportunist and pond scum, she cursed his name, gender and kingly title. Thus ended the time of Faërieland kings.

Now we jump forward. This Sovereignty Goddess, a goddess whose sexual appetite was more satiric than ladylike, was in fact sister to Queen Anahit. After the passage of centuries and the discontinuation of kings as they were unreliable and too easily swayed by a pretty face, Faërieland had no reigning king, only queen. Hence the practice, and her sister's royal seductions, passed into history. Until the echo of those times crept in to the present. Ambling along on his merry way came an errant knight, Sir Ablegôrth of Dumáçisus, a rather uninformed young knight, who upon seeing the queen and thinking her the Sovereignty Goddess, was so stunned by her beauty he vowed to win her favor and know her biblically thus ensuring the wealth and fertility of Faërieland. Now, being no king, and not able to be one less he aligned with Queen Anahit, it seemed this bit of insuring the wealth and fertility of Faërieland had in his nematode mind hit an impasse. A big one. Yet understanding the nature of the situation, and being one to whom patience was not accorded in at least small measure, Sir Ablegôrth, fired with the urgency of unrequited lust, acted impulsively. He contrived to get himself audience with the queen and undertook to make her his bride.

For her part, the queen found him quite charming indeed. So charming that Queen Anahit, in her heart of hearts, did consider him a likely candidate for her undying affections. But not a believer in the protocols of courtship, in what would enter the annals of Faëridom as _The Great Mistake_ , Sir Ablegôrth of Dumáçisus as much as demanded her hand and affections to elevate him to what he termed, "his divinely appointed station." Geez, was this guy desperate or what? Upon this rather abrupt, rude and presumptuous meeting, Queen Anahit, incensed and offended and deciding she was far too quick in her initial assessment, proclaimed that never again would she subject herself to the beastly lusts of males and henceforth. rule _alone_. This proclamation would be short lived, but at that moment she was a woman scorned to righteous indignation, followed by righteous retribution. For his inauspicious performance, one which would earn him the dishonorable title of "King Fool," Ablegôrth was not only banished from Faërieland but created through his impulsive and lust driven behavior April Fool's day, a day when each undertakes to pass the crown of King Fool, at least momentarily, to one another, the aim of which is to embarrass the gullible. Another movement in the eternal dance of friendship.

Now Ablegôrth was no doubt unpleased by this result. But he did in fact become king, just not in the way he had imagined, thereby learning in the process, "be careful what you ask for."

So it was that Ablegôrth immediately changed his name, sidestepping the King Fool moniker, to Malegar, a name to be feared and a presence to be avoided. Thus seeking to anoint his quest with legitimacy, he raised an army of drones and invaded the weakly guarded lands of Sylt, overthrowing the king and installing himself as sovereign. From this newly seized kingdom whose name he lickety split changed to Ströndôkkar—a land well beyond and decidedly beneath Faërieland—he commenced his reign of unrelenting terror.

*****

Things had gone awry, in a big way. One could say a monstrously big way. It seemed as if not having their queen physically sitting the royal throne for a period of time caused anarchy to take root in Faërieland. When Queen Anahit returned to check in as she did annually, something somewhere had gone skewy and all was in chaos. It was the whereabouts of her acting proxy, Lady Baltimore, whom, she sought to ascertain. Why was she curiously absent?

It seems the faërie females are a bit of a lusty horde. Kings did not fall into their laps because they tripped on a stone. Theirs was not a fall, but a plunge! And as Lady Baltimore was by all accounts possessed of amazing beauty, her allure was unmistakable and her attentions readily available. At her beckoning, of course. So the question "why was she absent" was easily answered by understanding the pull of her appetites. They called, she answered. Does this mean that the queen was running wild and naked through the towns like a traveling prostitute? Not at all. She did have dignity and credibility with which to contend. And she did not need the cash. The way she termed it, she was a "private dancer."

Perhaps she also understood the when why and wherefore that had caused Lady Chatterley to seek male attention beyond the royal circle. It was one thing to be royalty, and quite another to be made to feel like a million bucks in the love department. Could she simply have been unfulfilled in her royal duties? Let us face facts: duties do not beguiling bedmates make. Thus it is no wonder she fled a place of longing and cold responsibility for a place of pleasure and warm bodies. That is right. Not a place of warm body singular, a place of warm bodies plural. As in all things royal, it was good to be the queen.

So when Anahit returned at the 12 month interval, found the kingdom in chaos and the proxy queen en flagrante delicto, well, let us just say she was royally pissed! It was enough that Lady Baltimore insisted on her dubious liaisons. This was trouble enough. But to throw caution and shame to the wind and take a tumble on the royal bed was positively plebian. Things had certainly gone decidedly liberal since her departure. Did Lady Baltimore have not the sense to take her pleasures with the stable boy? If she was going to behave like a wanton animal, commit the act where the animals hold sway. Yet Anahit whose thunderous tirades were equal to that of Zeus, held herself in check for the simple reason that she herself had gone upstream so to speak to Upplandia where she met wed and subsequently bred with a human, Wilbur Morrison. Seeing that her own liaisons could find no comfort with stable boys, and not being a cat on the prowl kind of girl, she had of a sweetly scented spring day sauntered topside to see what offerings were to be found. Cupid's arrow sailed and Smash, Bang, Crash the world came tumbling down. This is now a matter of record and a story for another time.

It was her disappointment with Lady Baltimore that kept Anahit steadfastly enthroned, deciding that proxy queens were no better than rebellious children. This particular resolute and swift action by Anahit, would seemingly put all at rest, allowing her a bit of time to decide when and _if_ she would return home again. Of course, she wished to be with her little daughter, a girl who was at the time a twiddling 3 years of age. Surely, a brief disappearance was not an issue. Not unless one is faced with a peasant revolt and a scheming megalomaniac who himself wants to be Faërieland king and is plotting to take advantage of the situation.

This Malegar did by storming the castle—his drone army or lagmen as they are affectionately known leading the charge—and seizing the queen to imprison her until he figured out what to do with her. Now Malegar is dense and diabolical but not completely stupid. Of course he had ideas of what to do with her. Some of which involving what he wanted to do with her on their first meeting. Yet something about wearing a crown upon one's head seems to bestow certain sanctity of purpose, politesse of manner. Yes, it is true he seized her from the throne as viciously as one raised by wolves would be. But this was simply the entrée segment of his play, _Malegar Supremacy_. The possession segment of his play involved knowing he could do what he wished with her but staying his hand because to do otherwise would be positively gauche. As he had come to notice on his visits to various kingdoms in the day when he was but a mere errant knight, the exquisite manners of the royal always made him feel gauche, utterly lacking social grace; awkward, crude, tactless. And while Malegar may have been possessed of delusional fantasies of wealth, power, and omnipotence, he did have the benefit of class.

The fiend was a slithering contradiction.

So having his primal needs and acting upon them were kept compartmentalized in his twisting brain. Therefore he would hold her until the next Blood Tithe, an event his royal sorcerer had assured him would occur 7 years from then. Too bad the royal sorcerer failed to calculate the alignment of certain planets. When the 7 year limit was reached and Satan spat, "there is no Blood Tithe this year, idiot king. Try again in 7 years," laughing as he walked away, the sorcerer was summarily thrown into the fire pit. Although Malegar took no small offense at being called idiot king—too close to the ancient epithet of King Fool—he had no end of admiration for Satan, a being who could smile, sneer, and laugh simultaneously, bringing in chorus all the howling demons of Hell.

Being that official positions within the kingdom of Malegar left no room for error, the swift efficiency of his death machine being ever ready, it was difficult to imagine him finding a replacement. This was a problem that was no problem at all to those of the lunatic realm. A replacement was chosen with words that can only be spoken with unctuous authority by one as ethically unencumbered as he.

"Really my boy, it is a post of great power and privilege that grants you a place in history" he expounded with requisite feeling to the sorcerer apprentice, a sardonic smile on his face that he proudly thought quite satanic.

"Be not discouraged by the unfortunate fate of your predecessor, Tarboosh, and know that although I am a king still I grieve the loss." At this an ever so slight look of doubt crossed the boy's face. Malegar, acute as a cobra and ever the cunning chameleon, played the killer diller of all bargaining cards: flattery. "Truth be told, I have always admired your command of the mystic elements," he intoned, with the perfectly mimicked face of a saint. Truth be told? Truth was selectively relative in Malegar's world. "Oh Tarboosh, I think of you as a son. I have great faith in your abilities."

What could the poor boy do against such prolific mastery? He did not even question whether being a son to Malegar was something he prized. Had he in fact, he would have realized that even blood ties offered no immunity from the unerring hand of Malegarian retribution. Stunned to catatonia he accepted the post with a smile.

Fueled by the seeming enthusiasm of his boss, Tarboosh was eager to please. Days found him bound to his desk, nights found him glued to the stars, his telescope scanning the galaxy. His method was based on precision. His conclusions on empirical evidence. Where his predecessor largely relied on instinct and guesswork, dreadfully inaccurate and fatally so, Tarboosh employed a dizzying array of devices, charts and graphs, to arrive at conclusions entirely supported by facts. No fallback to instinct or guesswork. The security and joys inherent in a process so ironclad, provided the young sorcerer with satisfaction beyond measure. His teacher would have been proud. Had he employed these very methods himself. It was only too evident looking at the facts that his teacher had erred on the side of recklessness. Was it possible his wild errors indicated a prevailing death wish? Too late to tell. The dead tell no tales.

Soon enough with his most scientific methodology, Tarboosh had reached a startling conclusion; the Blood Tithe held every 7 years was not calculated using the Sumerian or lunar calendar, but by using the Gregorian or solar calendar, resulting in a difference of 5 whole days. A deadly miscalculation! How his teacher had got away with this sloppy science all the years of his tenure was a mystery that may never be solved. Perhaps this was the catalyst for his sanctified instinct and guesswork. Tarboosh was much too serious and chicken- scared cautious to take alliance with chance. He was no gambler. And although familiar with the saying, "The brave may not live long, but the cautious do not live at all," he was perfectly willing to let life race by him as opposed to the contrary. What possessed his teacher to insist upon using the Sumerian calendar for his calculations was clearly not a matter of scientific inquiry, but a matter of academic pomposity run amok. According to teacher departed, the switch to Gregorian calculation was shortsighted and political as it was only too obvious to the lettered that Sumerian calculation was accuracy incarnate as it followed Zoroastrian accounting. The origin and history of the Zoroastrian calendar year of 12 months of 30 days, plus five days, a resultant total of 365 days, remain unknown. It became official under the Sasanian dynasty, from about CE 226 until the Arab conquest in 621. The Arabs introduced the Muslim lunar year, but the Persians continued to use the Sasanian solar year, which in 1079 was made equal to the Julian year by the introduction of the leap year. Evidently his teacher identified with the Arab world. That and he was a pompous peacock.

*****

A day that had begun so auspiciously all of a moment turned to tenebrous gloom. There was after all a limit to how much self-satisfying pleasure a girl could give herself without the ever present demon of Teen Angst jumping into the room sneering with glee. And it brought with it the most annoying habit of answering a question with a question.

Jaynie: "Why am I here in Sörmlandia. Really. Why?"

TA: "Why do you think you're here?"

Jaynie: "Okay I know WHY I'm here, I just don't know—"

TA: "Why you're here?"

Jaynie: "Right."

TA: "It is important for you to be right?"

Jaynie: "Uh, YE-AH. But—"

TA: "Do you want to talk about your big but?"

Jaynie: "I don't have a big butt! I have a big need for something I didn't know I needed until I came down to this freaky weird place. I mean, I was getting by just fine. Really. Then I go to explore this cellar and find an old treasure chest left by my mother, and all of these feelings I didn't know I had came rushing in..."

TA: "Feelings? What kind of feelings?"

Jaynie: "Feelings like...feeling lost and alone and like I may have always felt this way and never knew it. It's like a big empty hole."

TA: "Would you say it feels like an ache?"

Jaynie took this question like a knuckle punch to the abdomen, her breath rushing and wheezing out of her. This teen angst was incredibly annoying, but it was also acutely perceptive.

Jaynie: "An ache?"

TA: "Yes, an ache; for what you don't know; for what you never had; for what you want so bad now you can taste it; in short...an ache for mommy!"

Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god! Teen angst was not only annoying it was an amazing therapist, dropping Jaynie to her knees in a crying heap. And suddenly another transformation occurred, one which she would later realize was long overdue; the transformation into a helpless three year-old girl, crying inconsolably for the mother who had up and vanished. No more cuddling. No more "oh my little baby," kisses. No more bouncing on momma's knee. No more tucking in and bedtime stories. NO MORE MOMMY!

If all the torment and suffering in the world could be condensed and molded into one representative form, it would be the image of this broken little girl, now older girl, who had gone back along life's passageways to meet in a soul shaking embrace: I love you, big sister; I love you little sister; please never be afraid again...I'm always here with you. Oh how this little girl had longed to hear those magical words in her time of her darkest despair, the time when it was all too clear mommy would not return. Was I a bad little girl? Did you not love me? Yet at the times these painful destructive thoughts would come to her mind, she had trouble marrying them to the clear image she had of mommy's face, a beautiful face looking at her and beaming and smiling and saying, "I love you my little princess." I love you my little princess. The words packed more meaning than words should be allowed. With these words the little girl rode the winds, sailing through storms, unafraid because mommy was a superhero. Mommy would protect her from anything in the world. Mommy WAS her world. A world which had been unexpectedly stolen from beneath her feet. And now, acknowledging the intense ache with no name that was always there, she experienced an epiphany, one of those golden moments where everything is made clear as an empty sky. She had hurt, she had ached, she had howled in pain and she had disappeared into herself vowing never to return. Knowing this now answered many questions about herself she didn't have the words to frame, but the questions had nevertheless lingered like lost puppies. And like those selfsame lost puppies for whom salvation had arrived, she jumped into loving arms—her own loving arms—as big sister welcomed little sister back to life.

In an instant of blazing light and hope, she became whole...

*****

Moving through ether, the heavenly bodies though made of ordinary Earthly matter, nonetheless move with an infusion of supernatural aspect. As it is universally accepted that ether is the apparently empty volume through which all these bodies of matter move, it is implicitly accepted that it is so to speak the very fabric of space. Fair enough. The stumbling block for those scientifically oriented is this: how do things below the Earth's surface apparently move through ether when ether is something exclusively above Earth's surface. The million dollar question. One which those, scientifically oriented or not, learn to add to the store of things accepted at face value. As Jaynie has found, logic finds cold comfort in Sörmlandia, so much so that a logistician would be sent running in frustration. She has also discovered, though she had proclaimed it to no avail to self righteous teachers many times before, the greatest sense is often made not with that most commonly called "sense," but "nonsense." There within that most miraculous and impartial two syllable word was a concept that terrified some and provided great comfort to an equal number of others. The aforementioned teachers were among the terrified.

Yes, it is often the case that concepts and philosophies that fly in the face of consensus academic opinion are met with outrage, derision and exile, materializing out of the vacuum of academia like the triplet harpies of doom. Not wishing to go the way of Socrates, she would not push the issue. Not overtly at any rate. It would be something she kept close and sheltered from the naysayers as she wandered the world where nonsense held sway. If nobody wanted to see the inherent value, too bad for them. They were just big fat boneheads.

Now, what purpose does this digression serve? A simple purpose that is readily apparent to anyone who visits Sörmlandia. Why does this world beneath the ground possess, sky, and sun, and moon, and stars? Perhaps your leg is being pulled. Rest assured this world does indeed contain those things just as sure as the world above ground. No leg pulling involved. When the legion of good folk decided to collectively flee the world above for a more sane, secure world where their kind could flourish unmolested, they decided below ground was the hands-down winner. Yet they did not presume to advocate claim to the acknowledged miracles of creation, such as sky, sun, moon and stars. Though science would be at a loss to explain the factors involved, Sörmlandia is replete with the aforementioned miracles of creation as are those in the world above. Science would most certainly be at a loss to explain this. Were they allowed access.

This is strictly forbidden.

From the ancient Book of Days: _The land of_ Álfheim is one where dwell the peoples called Light-elves Ljósálfar ; the Dark-elves dökkálfar dwell deep in the earth, and they are unlike in appearance, but by far more unlike in nature. The Light-elves are fairer to look upon than the sun, but the Dark-elves are blacker than pitch.

The mythologies of old are saturated with stories and whispers and disparagements galore. This is what comes of mingling with the lesser creatures. Yet with the world below ground much benefit was gained. Not that life is perfect, mind. The good folk had no illusions of finding a distant utopian universe. They simply wished to conduct themselves with the security of knowing their next breath would not be stamped out by giant shoes, or boots, or sandals, or whatever manner of footwear the humans adopted. And this was not even addressing the issue of the startling ingenuity humankind had of destroying and completely annihilating their own kind. Blood lust runs wild. If you toss in the destructive havoc rained on the animal population, well, it is clear to see the lunatics were running the asylum.

Yet all among the good folk, except the guilty (and they know who THEY are), agree that although theirs is a world of relative security, it is only so when viewed in contrast to the human world. In reality, the lunatic fringe appears a universal trait in life. Therefore, they too have their too-terrible-for-words beings, in one word: Malegar, a rotten seed if ever there was one.

Philosophers conjecture that Malegar, a.k.a. Ablegôrth, was denied the comfort of mother's paps. It has been shown that among other afflictions or vulnerabilities suffered by one so denied is the inability to connect with others. A bonafide loner if ever there was one. If this were the sum total of symptoms expressed by those in question, a bit of loneliness at worst, this is considered a minimum impact. Yet at the other extreme of symptom expression is a tendency toward malevolent behavior, an insatiable tendency, one forever dissatisfied. It is suggested that Malegar fits this profile like a holocaust cloak fits the grim reaper.

*****

Yngling: glittering white, shining blue, raven black, in the light of the sun the land looks like a fairy tale, a place of delicate mist and color, and of gently moving winds. The streams of Yngling are still in the possession of the nymphs and naiads. Accustomed to traveling along underground paths they invaded so long ago most Ynglingians have forgotten. However, it is understood that the streams are theirs. If one wishes to win favor with these extremely capricious and wily creatures, one must take care to not offend them. What offends them most is a flagrant misuse of the streams, their children. To misuse their children is to wage war.

The concept of war was fully on Jaynie's mind. She had been given to understand that if she simply set out along the city streets, the path to follow would present itself, something along the lines of Luke Skywalker, given encouragement from Yoda to "use the force." Except she was not Luke Skywalker, did not know Yoda, and if Ôtar was to be construed as being Yoda she was certain this would be a mistake. Although Ôtar provided her with copious amounts of instructions, and cautions, and encouragements, they had all resolved to her figuring out what to do with it all. As if somewhere in her teenage brain the pieces would meet in transit and conglomerate into one organism. Unfortunately, this did not appear to be happening.

What the hell does he expect me to do? Just wander around until something leads me somewhere? And how am I supposed to know when I find it? What if I don't? Poor Jaynie was confused, scared, lost, a veritable steady state since her arrival here. Whatever fragments of this condition existed before were easily manageable as mere life episodes. That life episode depiction flew out the window once she sailed down the entry chute. She moved, spoke, thought in ways she hoped would bring everything around to normal. No such luck. Strangeness stalked her like a cougar.

She looks around her for an encouraging sign. People who move through the streets appear to all be strangers. Perhaps they walk along imagining, conjuring a million things about one another, conversations they may have, caresses, gropes they may share. But no one greets anyone; eyes lock for a second then dart away, seeking other eyes. A woman in black walks by, her face covered by a veil, her lips full and blood red. A girl with a parrot in hand strolls by; a giant string bean man; a little boy with a turtle on a string; a fat man with mustache and handfuls of balloons. There is always someone who bursts out laughing in the clusters, releasing a flow of jokes and sarcasm. The scene is entirely complacent and vaguely familiar. A scene she has witnessed to some degree many times where she comes from, the same but different. If she didn't know she wasn't in her hometown, she would not find this place odd. But it was odd indeed. Yet by the same token, she could not recall the last time she had seen anyone walking along with a parrot in hand or a turtle on a string. These types of odd occurrences were only normal here in Sörmlandia. The upside down world that turned her world upside down. A funhouse mirror image.

A man selling ice cream and hot dogs pushes his cart across the street, coming right up to her as if planned.

"Ice cream, Princess? We have today the most special Zydarunes, a Gilltown favorite."

Jaynie looked into his rather familiar face and thought for a second she knew him. Just for a second. This was not her home, and this could not be anyone she knew.

"Thank you, no. I'm uh...looking for something and—"

"Yes! The Zydarunes are especially for you. Ôtar approved!"

"Oh! In that case, sure. Let me have it."

Bad choice of words, Princess. Let you have it indeed. No sooner did he extend his arm with the colorful sparkling mass of gooey something that her eyes blacked out and she was immediately transported to a rather inhospitable looking swampland. She had a number of things to do before she could make a final decision, but one thing she knew for certain: the next time someone offers her Zyadarunes, just say NO!

Suddenly she felt a tremendous rumbling under her feet. Like an earthquake. In front of her she saw the blades of swale quivering and whispering in the breeze. Then they began to part like a curtain was being drawn. What happened next terrified her beyond her wildest dreams. A large herd of something brown, black and HUGE was headed directly at her. She screamed.

Looney reached down grabbed her by the shoulders and lifted her up to a branch. It just figured Looney would be involved.

"Be the look of it they's migratin' beetles. Never to fuss."

"Never to fuss? I was almost squished!"

"Ah, give us a smile now."

"Things sure are a whole lot different out here."

"Och!. Vigilance be a fine friend. It's transport we ought to have."

"Transport?"

"Aye. Zipwhizzer."

"Zipwhizzers?"

"Zipwhizzer. I believe I saw the swamp not too far along"

Jaynie looked around opening her eyes wide then squinting as if she had missed something.

"Uh...aren't we like IN a swamp?"

Mad Looney smiled his ever beguiling smile that gave one to wonder just what it was he found so funny.

"It is the fact you're after. Aye, we be in a swampland. Where we need be is IN THE SWAMP!"

"Oh joy..."

A falling star raced across the night sky creating a backlash of hectic activity as creatures large and small abandoned their perches and raced frantically away. A deathful silence transformed into a frenzied escape.

"We need help," said Looney, as if recovering from an extended sojourn in deep thought. "All around is alive and alert and here we be as naked as babes."

"So...what now."

"To the swamp!"

A fog ahead rose into view. At the edge closest to the travelers a rotted rowboat lay open mouthed on its side, drinking death from all sources. An eerie silence descended from the sky. All about them it seemed nature was unwilling conspirator in a grand scheme.

"You'd be wise to watch your step," said Looney. "The dark court is about."

If the war would begin right at that moment it could not have jolted her any more than reaching for an ice cream, blacking out, being zapped to a swampland, and having Mad Looney reach down from a tree branch to lift her out of the way of migrating beetles. When things like this happened it underscored the grim reality: this is not Kansas, Dorothy. One second on a street viewing the mass of society that for a few surprising exceptions could have been anywhere on Earth, and the next transported to the homeland of the creature from the black lagoon. All she knew for certain is she was hot damned tired of these wild intrusions into her world that zapped and slammed and put her somewhere else entirely. If moving her about was so simple, why did she have to go searching for anything? Why couldn't she just be zapped there?

"Well, now, it'd be hard to say, Princess, as not everything is as it seems."

"I figured you'd say something like that."

"Now why did you say that? Maybe you're after the likes of this. It's a simple matter of electromagnetic radiation, and frequency spectrums, and long wavelengths and short wavelengths, and the ability to mesh them just so. If the wrong cross frequency is enacted a nuclear explosion could occur. If you were being transported on a frequency band when the wrong cross frequency was enacted the result would be tragic as tombstones."

Her head was spinning with all this science talk. It was clear to her that among other things she had not done enough of it was watching Bill Nye the Science Guy. Big waves, little waves. She could have been back home talking beach talk by the sound of it.

"So I could definitely blow up?"

"As me dear mother says, nothing is certain 'cept the lord above. Yet it be a risk not worth taking."

"Well thank you, I think."

"Our quickest means of reaching the cave is to hop on our transports and skedaddle."

"And the safest?"

"Youse never saw the likes of it."

Moments later the wings were flapping, the buzzing was singing and the zips were whizzing, with the dauntless duo at the lead. From the height they had reached the world below sure looked beautiful. This bird's eye view was one she did not get the first time she had flown in. It had been foggy and opaque. Now, she could see blues and yellows and reds with the occasional green light shooting by like a search laser of some type. She could also make out the windows or at least the openings on houses and buildings with the inside lights blazing out into the night. If war was not her objective she wouldn't mind just staying in the air and sailing around for a long time. Unfortunately her mission was not one of pleasure. She knew this. For this reason she made certain to enjoy herself as much as she could in the process. Maybe this is what her father meant when he said, "Darlin', some days ya just gotta enjoy one minute at a time." She was doing her darndest to enjoy herself one minute at a time full certain that when these minutes of enjoyment passed, they would be followed by hours of strife.

They reached a wide open land and set their Zipwhizzer down. Not far off she heard shouting and screaming and squealing. It sounded like doomsday at the pig farm. Looney strolled over to her and pointed to the near distance.

"Not too far from here is the entrance to the cave of Livsöde. This is where you will find the Förstlånd saber. Ôtar himself is as knows best."

"Oh right. Yeah. I just walk up to it and pick it up and off we go."

Looney looked at her with a face that said she had done something wrong.

"Almost m'dear. You walk up to it and pick it up and if it's after going with you, then off we go. There is always room for error."

"Wait a minute, here. Ôtar didn't tell me none of this crap. Another living thing that's not a living thing but since I'm here in Sörmlandia it is a living thing? Do you people have anything normal that's not a living thing? I mean, it's just a saber. Big whoop"

"Princess. The Förstlånd saber is far from a 'normal thing' as you says. It is an ancient weapon of flowery history with a long succession of masters. Whether or not one is to be its master is in the end its choice to make. The power it conveys are vast indeed. I suppose one could say it is very careful in whom it selects."

"Ôtar told me that because I'm a royal princess, it was I who was to, as he said, 'wield it.'

So...what's the problem?"

"Ôtar did not say all as is maybe not to worry you. He is absolutely correct as only one of royal blood can wield it. He had stated with hopes flying high as in all probability you were the next rightful master. We had all agreed as it must be you. But there are some as don't know. It's always the chance as we spoke too soon. Ultimately, it's the saber of Förstlånd as chooses."

"Are you saying we could go through all this and more only to find the bratty little saber has a tantrum and won't go with me?"

Looney's face lit up like the harvest moon.

"You give us a fair twittering description of this rather ancient saber. Really, Princess, in all likelihood all will go to the nines. I just offer this view so as to consider a backup plan if all does NOT go as planned."

"Oh, is that all? Heck, if the little brat won't come with me I'll whoop it and drag it along anyway."

"I do love your sense of seeing, princess; alive in the sunny lust of life. But this backup plan is no plan at all. If it's not with you as the saber is to go, it will deliver a rather nasty electric jolt along its length and through your bonny little hand. Not a sweet heigh-ho."

"Uhm, maybe I don't want to go get this thing after all..."

"Not to fear, now, princess. Only the pure in heart and the clean in spirit may enter the cave of Livsöde. I've seen yourself is of a kind. Keep yer nose clean and all be spry."

*****

She came to an opening in the hillside that looked worth investigating. Ôtar had mentioned about caves and tunnels and secret passages as she made her way to rescue her mother. Yet he had given no details as to what if any distinctive features she should look for in determining and distinguishing a whole in the hill from an entrance to a cave. No spelunker was she. So she had reached an impasse. Mad Looney said the opening to the cave of Livsöde was somewhere close. All well and good if she knew where she was to begin with. Usually he too was somewhere close though not necessarily right at her side. This was one of those times.

The long trip into wherever she now was had taken its toll and when they landed her immediate concern was to take a short nap. This she did, sleeping the sleep of the just for what seemed like years. She had up to this point hung around waiting for him to lead the way, but when she woke to find him gone, she had some quick decisions to make. First off, it was very very very scary out there in the dark and fusty lands. What did he call them, the Wastelands? Appropriate name for this desecration she saw, felt, and mostly smelled around her. Second, this was not her land and even though at times so much looked deceptively familiar she knew that surprise was the operative word down there. Yet combining fear with teenage anxiety did nothing to help her stay still and wait for Looney to return.

So she struck out on her own. Now standing before this hole/entrance, she stopped to think over what her next move should be. She stepped into the dark hole. Immediately her nose was struck with a smell most foul. That alone would have been enough to turn her back, but she knew that associating foul smells with the path to BUGM was a sure bet she was on the right track. Only problem being that she was alone and scared. Maybe she would turn back after all and wait for Looney to arrive.

Great idea. Wrong timing.

From behind her a loud, deep, howling roar blasted from the depths of the cave. If she was scared before, now she was terrified! She scrambled toward a cluster of large rocks attempting to hide behind them. As she hit the dirt she was simultaneously aware of gooey slimy creepy crawly things moving across her hands. Oh joy! Gross or not she had no choice but to stay there. And soon enough she found out why as a group of three large, thin, grayish creatures with big red eyes came lumbering toward her before veering off to the right. A rumbling mumbling sound passed between them. Evidently their form of speech. And while she could not know what they were saying, from the tones she heard it sounded like they were tetchy.

"Ugh, human blood smell here. Human moves through."

"Yum, look and find."

She was happier when she could not understand them. Now she knew they were looking for her. Hands froze in fists at her sides as a white freeze went through her. Terror overcame her as before her eyes flashed childhood pictures involving playing out-of-doors, dressing up, derring-do, believing in magic, perpetual summer and an absence of interfering grown-ups. She was certain of death's speedy arrival. Suddenly, Mad Looney popped in behind her and she screamed. Big mistake. The three goons came rushing at her. Looney grabbed her by the shoulders and pulled her up up up and in an instant they were floating above the lagmen. Little did she know who these goons were, but when she was told that these were none other than some of the infamous lagmen, she was infinitely thankful Mad Looney had appeared when he did.

"A day as was as nice as the whispering spring it is. Until I woke with a start. All this I see in the glass darkly. The dark court is out in force and ever vigilant we must be."

"I'm so glad you came when you did. Those guys were...I don't know..."

"Be sure they were up to no good on yer account."

"Yeah. I got that feeling when they started talking about smelling human blood."

"Be ye certain that they're intent was to see human blood too. You bein' the sacrificial lamb so to speak."

"They wanted to kill me! They wanted to kill me...!" repeated Jaynie in endless loop, twirling her fingers through her curls and rubbing her cheek.

"Sure now they did. Still do. But not through their own wantin,' said Mad Looney, as he dodged a rock overhang and continued up. "They are brainless as they are merciless, bein' mere drones for the will of BUGM."

"You know, I really don't care _whose_ will is being followed. Me being killed as part of the plan has got me scared stupid!"

"Is it tired yer gettin'?"

"Yes."

"Me too," he said dropping her to the ground. "Now bein' out of their sight for the moment we can devise a plan..."

*****

"That be the cave we're after. Now we need to get around the goons. Lots of stones in there. What say you to that?"

"What? I don't know."

"Sure now you know what to say to a stone then. Top o' the mornin' to ya."

Every time Jaynie thought she understood something about Mad Looney she was almost immediately faced with the living proof that she didn't understand him at all. Was he suggesting she talk to the stones or just making jokes? It sounded like he was actually, seriously cracked!

"Top o' the mornin' to ya, she repeated in near perfect Irish dialect. " You're telling me I should say good morning to the stones. And this is your great plan?"

"Sure now, it's no plan at all. Just a hello to the residents of the cave."

Sometimes it seems that the stones are really speaking—speaking of the old things, of the time when the strange fishes and animals lived that are turned into stone now, and the lakes were here; and then of the time when the little elves lived here, so small and so ugly, and used to sleep in the wild dog holes, and eat snakes, and shoot the rabbits with their poisoned arrows ... Now they're all gone, so that we never see a little yellow face peeping out among the stones. And as much as this is a fine imagining, she could not see that the stones, these clumpy, dirty, jagged edge things were living at all. Dead as dirt clods as her father would say. But being as she was to follow the lead of her guide she decided she should take him literally, speak to the stones, and when they did not answer (of COURSE they wouldn't) Mad Looney would have a great laugh at her expense.

"Top o' the mornin' to ya," she said, kneeling in front of a stone cluster that looked like a carefully placed cairn. Imagine her shock when they answered.

"Oh, there now she says hello. Ain't that a fine thing. She walks into our humble home, hides from the goons and flies away, and now, NOW, she comes round to sayin' hello. It's a wonder we get on at all."

Jaynie was so flabbergasted that she knelt right there yammering something indecipherable but by all accounts sounding like she had lost a screw.

"I'm so sorry. Really I am. But how am I to know—"

"Save your excuses, girlie. Yer manners are wantin'. At least the first person that came through a while ago was nice enough to say hello right off."

"The first person that came through? Who?"

"Oh, some feller name of Mo or Momy or—"

"Móam! What the...He's not supposed to be here!"

"We're just dead as dirt clods. It's all the same to us."

Once again Móam was interfering where he didn't belong. She should have thought being reprimanded by the General was enough to keep him in check. Evidently not. He appeared to be obsessed with the idea of leading the charge into Ströndôkkar no matter what. Yet knowing the universe unfolds as it needs to, Jaynie immediately understood when she came upon a glum, beaten, tearstained Móam, that the universe had unfolded smack dab on his head.

"It zapped me! A big huge monster zap! I thought I was going to die."

Jaynie looked at the hand he held cradled like a baby and noticed the red-brown saber shaped tracks across the palm. Definitely did not look pretty. She twittered for a moment, just a trifling moment, thinking she should feel compassion for this creature who since they met had gone out of his way to be a saber sized thorn in her butt. But the moment passed swiftly and a slight smirk of satisfaction prevailed. Just a slight one, mind. Looney watched this scene play out, a smug look on his face and his arms folded in front of him.

"As I says. It is the Fjärdmir saber that chooses."

When Jaynie noticed his expression she shivered with fear.

"Wait a minute. Does this mean I get it next? Huh? Is that why you're smug facing me?"

"It's not mine to say, Princess. It is—"

"The Fjärdmir saber that chooses. Yeah, I know."

"Well now. Have a go then?"

The moment of truth had arrived. All events in her life leading up to this one. To look at the saber lying there nestled among its casket of stone was to see a rather ornate, glistening, deadly article of weaponry as one could hope to see. Yet despite all outward signs of its aggressive potential, in its current attitude it portrayed an aura of innocuous calm. And this in itself perhaps was the solitary element that motivated all glory seekers and soldiers of fortune to charge in undaunted sensing within its outward appearance an invitation and promise of acquiescence. Oh what a clever piece of artillery it was. And now here she was. Viewing the Fjärdmir saber like many others before, believing with every pore, vessel, organ and molecule in her body that it was as integral a part of her as all the above. The only thing staying her hand was the one thing that alone could stumble her: fear.

She crept up to it slowly, sensing that if she approached it this way she wouldn't frighten it into attack mode. Kind of like moving gingerly around a vicious dog. And maybe this would convey her intentions: all good. Well, if it was alive as she'd been told this would make sense, right? Somehow she found no comfort in this logic as this was something that did not seem to apply here. Rattling knees and rubber legs do not sturdy supports make. Before she fell apart completely, she made her move, lunging for it while holding one hand over her eyes so that if she did get zapped at least she would not have the lingering mental image of this devastation to contend with.

Grab handle, pull away, and up up up her arm went, compelled by the saber as her arm shot straight into the air displaying the anointed saber for all to see. Light cascaded and refracted off its blade sending wild colorful beams into the space around her, turning the dark dank cave into a brazenly illuminated Las Vegas strip. A rather vein weapon indeed as it wished to have its primacy proclaimed in grand style. She was familiar with the alpha male concept, but the alpha saber?

Looney looked on with a wide grin. Móam's face lit up like he had just seen the messiah. And Jaynie glowed with pride as she felt her nobility surge forth. Now it seemed all was in place for—

"Ah! Human...ha ha. Get her!"

The terrible raspy voice of doom shot into the cave turning the victory scene into an execution pit. Stunned by the explosive entry Jaynie went numb with fear as the Fjärdmir saber acted in her stead thrusting her arm forward and aiming a searing ray of death in triplicate toward the instantly crumbling lagmen. Sure enough, they had not gone far since their last encounter knowing that she would return for that which they had hoped to wrest from her with ease. Unfortunate for them they were no match for Jaynie and her team of thousands. She dropped the saber and brought her hands to her mouth repeating, "Oh my god. Oh my god!!"

Her OMG moment ran wild as clearly an impression was made. "I...I...I didn't know what to do. And then this...thing, almost jumps out of my hand and blasts the lagmen and oh wow, wow, wow! They like totally vaporized!"

Round one goes to team Jaynie. One could say with this auspicious beginning a victory was certain as sin. One could say this, but one would not only be premature in this declaration they would also be guilty of hubris, which as we know the gods abhor and are quick to punish. Metamorphosing into Medusa at this point would not help her cause. Not only that, it would blemish her otherwise enchanting good looks. In all mythological tale spinnings there is nary a mention of a prince rushing forth to smooch Medusa. Not one. Yet there is one telling where it was her beauty, accompanied by hubris, which Aphrodite sought to address by giving her the gift of reptilian attraction. One story. Just one. One that is paid no mind at all. So it was that Medusa would wander the world turning men to stone which is an otherwise notable achievement when accomplished metaphorically, not literally. At this point Jaynie's forte was in the metaphorical sense only and she was quite happy with that thank you very much. Although she now had the power with her new friend Big Effer (as she'd taken to calling it) to turn men or anyone or thing for that matter to coal dust. A very handy skill indeed. Power was so intoxicating!

*****

Out on the rolling skyline, many miles away, a lance-like ray of blue-white light shot up into the gathering dusk—a clump of five rays, from five deep shafts in an irregular pentagon half a mile across, blended into one by the distance. An instant later, there was a blinding flash, like sheet-lightning, and a huge ball of varicolored fire belched upward, leaving a series of smoke-rings to float more slowly after it. The fireball flattened, then spread to form the mushroom-head of a column of incandescent gas that mounted to overtake it, engorging the smoke-rings as it rose, twisting, writhing, changing shape, turning to dark smoke in one moment and belching flame and crackling with lightning the next.

"The people of the hills have all left. I saw them come into Yngling and I saw them go. Giants, trolls, kelpies, brownies, goblins, imps; wood, tree, mound, and water spirits; heath-people, hill-watchers, treasure-guards, good people, little people, leprechauns, nightriders, pixies, nixies, gnomes, and the rest--gone, all gone! Now only the glamorous twilight and soft beauty of the Borderland."

General Wolfbiscuit waxed nostalgic as he watched the new obliterations roll into the once peaceful lands. One could understand his sense of loss. A homeland demolished by clashing ideals and the blood lust of war. He was of course a bit to the hyperbolic as there were still many of the good people and their kind about. But it was of Yngling specifically he spoke. And though all was not as bleak as he had blurted out, there was definitely a tragic and massive decrease in their number. Just another example of the wondrously wretched work of BUGM.

We are slaves of the macroscopic, failing to appreciate the overwhelming domination of the microbial. To BUGM, all creatures beside himself are microbial vermin which he takes robust pleasure in demolishing. One could imagine he was the kind of child who loved to tear off butterfly wings and burn ants with a magnifying glass, laughing throughout with orgiastic glee. It is the small joys that make life grand. In his world it is the annihilations of any size that make life his. His alone.

All hail BUGM!

From here to the Moonacoochie and across the Borderland into Drooj, much had changed for the worse. At one time Drooj was a world of marvels extraordinaire, a kind of Disneyland theme park that was no park at all but the day to day world of its inhabitants. A place where young Floogle and Droogle remained forever young, untouched by the adversity that is life. Today, it was only the fragmentary whisper of a time long gone. If Walt Disney were here he would cry.

Separating Drooj from Ströndôkkar was a small, small, so small it trickled stream, that once bursting with life was now a cesspool of detritus. Essentially a place all the dead and near dead called dystopian home. Second only to Kakojwë in repulsive exhalations, it did its part in keeping away unwelcome guests, read that to mean "all guests." Standing on the outskirts of Drooj and looking across this toxic stream, one is immediately overcome with a desire to flee with gazelle speed to any place far far away, though no distance would be enough to quell the nausea and lingering imagery. If you stood there only long enough to scan the near distance past the dead stream across to the Ströndôkkar border, you would see a swath of land resembling the vilest landfill cesspit with incumbent dirt clouds, pestilent breezes, and hiccoughing earth boils. A place appropriately named Bolma, which means _belch out smoke_. If it were carbuncled epidermis it would need remedy by sand blaster...or flamethrower.

*****

Until this moment the war had been merely a subject "hey what's going on" discussion, a thing remote from them and only affecting far-away people. Now it was real and terrible. They had witnessed the going of and joined the throng of those who might never return. From that moment it was their war.

By sunrise this morning, with their long, dusty journey ended, the last of the Night Riders reached Solan Station, hot and weary, but bright of smile and spirit, and eager to be sent at once to the front. The arriving warriors found 25,000 compatriots, most of them regulars, already encamped in the sandy Pine Barrens surrounding the little city, and took their place among them.

At Port Cullis, nine miles away, lay the fleet of transports provided to carry them across the Köldskada Sea to Ströndôkkar. Here those already there had lain for many days, sweltering in the pitiless heat, suffering the discomforts of a campaign without its stimulant of excitement, impatient of delay, and sick with repeated disappointments. They were ready for service. Time and again orders for embarkation were received, only to be revoked upon rumors of ghostly warships reported off some distant portion of the coast. Ströndôkkar was playing her old game of ha-ha at the expense of the Fjärdmirians, and inducing her powerful enemy to refrain from striking a blow by means of terrifying rumors skillfully circulated through the sensationalist journals of the great Sörmlandian cities, which readily published any falsehood that provided a sensation. At length, however, the last puzzle piece appeared to be laid, and one week after the Riders reached Solan a rumor of an immediate departure, more definite than any that had preceded it, flashed through the excited camp: "All is ready, and tomorrow we shall embark for Ströndôkkar."

The short version of this tale is this: troops attack, defeat BUGM, save the queen, and all returns to relative normalcy. Would that it be so. Yet this is only the declaration of a deeply held wish, one that is the driving force behind all home team combatants. If war had only one single probability then the challenge is lost. Everyone knows that anything can happen at any time turning a previously one-sided struggle into a disappointing upset. And no tale with such a long preamble can end so neatly tied up without it feeling like an anticlimax. Exposition, Conflict, Climax, Resolution, a time tested cycle that demands attention. But this is after all only another way of saying that in Faërieland there is no time, just as there is no space either (as Euclid understood space) and no logic, but only the glamorous twilight and the soft beauty of the Borderland.

Air support was on its way. Jaynie and Mad Looney had assembled a crew of willing and able warriors to pilot the Zipwhizzer, Fighter Wasp, and Stun Bee squadron out across the Wastelands and into the midst of battle. If BUGM sought a conflict, his wish was being fulfilled. And now on the morn of destruction, all was poised and pitched for maximum response.

General Wolfbiscuit had his troops at the ready to ship out. He had only the wisp of an idea that Jaynie was on her way to meet them. Yet, time had passed with no word. So here on this fateful morn his heart was plunged into despair. But it is a leader's burden to suffer his doubts and pains in silence. Demoralizing the troops is never an option. Over and across the land of Bolma he gazed, hoping to glean a revelatory sign from the landscape. With a landscape as morose as it was, this was yeoman's' task of imagination coupled gleaning. Though this was a preparatory scene quite familiar to the General. The moments before battle were often the most vibrantly compelling of the campaign, when the mentalscape became one of strategies developed and enacted envisioning each move like a master chess player. In this case the metaphor was aptly appropriate. Take out the opponent's King with a thunderous checkmate and free the Queen. Hurrah, hurrah! Of course there would be losses suffered, these taken in somber stride in the manner of a well-trained warrior. Only Jaynie was new to this conception. All hope rested upon her ability to rise to the challenges presented her. As their future queen, duty demanded it.

"Hey, Looney," Jaynie screamed, waving her arm overhead. "I think I see the troops down there."

"Aye, methinks you be right."

As difficult as it was to attempt conversation, what with the rushing winds, the buzzing aircraft and the general pandemonious blood pulsing excitement-slash-fear, the task was easily accomplished due in part to drafting, the NASCAR method of riding close behind the vehicle ahead to reduce wind drag thus increasing speed. In the Sörmlandian skies however, this method also enabled surprisingly clear conversation, with the mesmerizing backdrop of buzzing whizzing and zipping sounds. One could say that Jaynie was quite as happily excited as an excitable girl could be. Easy to be when you have the unbeatable weapon at your command. In effect this was no more dangerous in Jaynie's eyes than playing Dune or Warhammer: Mark of Chaos at home. She only hoped that the epic cinema version of these games in which she was now involved had an experienced crew of key grips and best boys on the set to provide the necessary scenery, smoke, lighting and explosions as needed. Something along the lines of Armageddon would do nicely. Sounds like Jaynie was having delusions of directorial grandeur. True to form she was an actor who wanted to direct.

Dancing in her head were not visions of sugar plums, but of spacious skies and magical misty lands, a region of her own unconscious making—the indispensable atmosphere which lies about the more solid world of her thoughts, a place of delicate mist and color, and of gently moving winds; outside it she could not breathe, nor would her winged fancies ever learn to fly.

This is the true home of the faerie, where they prefer for the most part to dwell in hiding, behind the glimmering ramparts and the gates of which we have glimpses now and then, making excursions for they are an adventurous race into our human world, but liable to retreat suddenly on a flash of rainbow wings, hurling back a shower of silvery arrows, flame-tipped with laughter, at all those matter-of-fact, sturdy mortals who call themselves the sons of Common Sense, but who nevertheless gaze after them wistful-eyed from the hither side of the faerie frontier. The frontier of which she was at since her arrival to Sörmlandia, her world, her real home, the place to which her return was predestined. A conclusion to a life lived in the mosaic surround of a fragmented world, a collage of people and places that could only in the end beg the question, who am I really. It was on this emotional tide she rode into battle upon the wings of angels, by Zipwhizzer proxy, part of as fine a team of warriors as she had ever known, discounting the fact that she had known none before, except in the aforementioned Dune or Warhammer landscapes. Still, she was lit like a faerie dust beacon, the beam of her smile putting the sun to shame...

*****

Why oh why can a king, a preeminent ruler such as I, have such an inability to secure the talented, the truly gifted creatures he needs on staff? A simple answer to a deceptively not simple query; because he is surrounded by IDIOTS!

Malegar was in quite a frazzled state, a place that caused him to circle and stomp and yes, CUSS, pull at his remaining shreds of hair, endeavoring with very little result to understand why the simplest command is botched so completely he is left to wonder if perhaps his idiot troopers are deaf. Bring her back. Find her and bring her back. It's not difficult. We know where she is, know her every move. Just call up the necessary screen and zoom into her pick her up and bring her in. Simple. Pure iconic simplicity. So given this WHAT THE &*%$#@* HAPPENED?

In every situation bar none there exists room for error. Multiply the variables involved and the error rate increases exponentially. The particular situation most prominent in the mind of Malegar, is the planning and execution of Operation Princess Pinch, OPP to the troopers. The variables were at first minimal, as minimal as could be for an operation so delicate, bringing the error rate into the range of one percent. All was set for a brilliant success! Understandably, he would be gobsmacked to find the operation progressed quickly from success potential to failure potential of the brilliant variety. A brilliant failure, so much better than a mere garden variety failure. Hence his temperamental tantrum state. This is where the variables increased organically as if self impelled and all that was before so brilliantly and laboriously set in place was cast asunder like desiccated leaves. Jaynie had seized the Fjärdmir saber and laid waste to the assault trio. Due to delays on the Galaxy Highway, news had not reached the outer regions of Ströndôkkar. Something the king himself would need to address personally when it came time to renew the service provider contract. Yet still, even given this abysmal state of affairs, a glimmer of diabolical joy danced euphorious in the tin heart of Malegar. With the arrival of Princess Jaynie, he had been provided the necessary card to give him a full house advantage when payment of the Blood Tithe arrived. You see, sending Queen Anahit was joy enough, and more than sufficient to allow him command of her throne. But throwing the princess into the bargain, sending them both along to the dark quarters to be roasted at the spit, would not only give him top dog bounty hunter status with the Dark Lord but would at the same time resolve all problems at once which was a flourish of most elegant design. Just thinking about it caused him to twitter with excitement, much like a child at Christmas. So while it was true his devious plan of princess elimination had at this point failed, the victory was ultimately his in a way far better than any plan he could have conceived. Now his only task was to dwell on the massive jolt the kingdom would receive when they found out that their true master had arrived. As always, he was ever excited at the prospect of committing anything in the insidious category. What else was there really for one so disposed as he? Life was replete with joys aplenty; in his world those joys took the form of bad news for others. To him schadenfreude was the pinnacle of devious ecstasy. While the war raged on his was to view discern and dissect from afar, executive privilege you night say, as this was all he really wanted to do after all, pick at the folly and foibles of others, a rather backwards psychological directive that only helped to add to his superiority index. .The trophy is lost in the mail. It has been for some time...

*****

The field of battle had resolved to pockets of skirmishing enemies as forces attempted to bring opposing factions into conflict with each other. Remaining clear as to whose side one was on was simple enough as any cursory glance would attest. During siege missions while troops are massacred somewhere behind the slabs of stone otherwise known as the enemy camp, you can be sure that the green sometimes brown always ugly tall and thin creatures racing to and fro around you are most definitely the enemy. Word had gone round that a master, General Balderdash, had been leading his troops, but this had not yet been proven, most likely another fabrication from the legendary propaganda machine. With the manner in which the enemy troops were lackadaisically deployed it was clear that if someone was in charge he would receive no commendations.

The majority of the lagmen skirmishes involve large-scale battles, many infused with a steeliness that will challenge the most resolute warrior, forcing one to approach each encounter with forethought and tactical planning. Allied with the lagmen are the Molnari. These creepy, whispering masters of magic with a penchant for smug self-satisfaction are the perfect counterpoint for the visceral lagmen knockdowns, and their missions often require subterfuge and stealth rather than brute force.

*****

Arriving finally at the imprisonment quarters was in the end a bit anticlimactic. Where Jaynie had expected a full-scale high tech lockdown of the Star Wars variety, what she found was a grim, foul smelling enclosure, more in keeping with medieval dungeons than modern penitentiary schemes. To say the least she was disappointed. If she had pictured this rather pathetic cavern as the eventual destination, she is sure her motivation would have been impacted negatively. Not that she had any compunction against rescuing her mother, aside from the obvious matter of knowing her only in legend and story, just that she really really really wanted to go toe to toe with the big green meany himself with the monster imprisonment facility as backdrop. Instead she found a weak dingy smelly iron cage that at the very least was in needing of cleaning.

"Mom? Is it really you?"

"Yes yes, my darling my darling my daughter. And how strange yet pleasing those words roll off my tongue. Far too many years have I wondered about you and what life may be bringing you. I should hope that between your father and Aunt Malinda you were kept in fine stead. As a backup plan I had the trio of watchers keep an eye on you."

"I...I...don't know what to say. So...Uhm...how do I get you out of there?"

"Ah, that is the question."

Quickly deciding in grand leader fashion Jaynie resolved to head back to home base to consult with Mad Looney on this getting mom out business. A swift and tearful goodbye was all it took to get her on her way.

Arriving to mother's side took a bit more than simple wishing, a might more than a wiggle of the nose, quite a monstrous amount more than mere assault. The ramparts of the Malegarian domain were solid testaments to man's ingenuity and industry and the exacting duplication fashioned by the Sörmlandians. The moat filled with nettle and rubbish, the broken fences, green stagnant waters, the gabled, turreted, crumbling abode, a perfect medley of chaotic architecture that despite its grim dilapidated appearance delivered surprise and defeat in each enemy altercation. In a just universe the defenders of justice would suffer losses no doubt but would eventually if not inevitably prevail. Viewing the play by play of this war one found it difficult to conceive a charitable conclusion.

Jaynie led the charge while wielding the Fjärdmir saber and easily cut a wide swath through the opposition. Unfortunately she could not be everywhere at once and this war was a team effort. So while she zipped and swung and squashed as she went, her comrades dispersed throughout the battle front suffered losses unanticipated. Looney was in the midst of a swarm of lagmen as he tried valiantly to fend them off. Only when Jaynie flew in and vaporized them was the confrontation resolved. She raced in on foot hoping to intervene in yet another skirmish but found this method far too laborious and silly as she had a Zipwhizzer at her command.

Henceforth, she resolved to limit her approach to air assault, deciding it a far more effective means of contributing her talents. On she went. Through fire and flame and laser etcetera, feeling the rush of battle course through her veins like a sugar blast. Nobody could understand the manner in which she moved, the method she employed deciding when and where to concentrate her efforts. She could only say, were she asked, that she did not think about it at all. She simply moved at random relying on instinct to lead the way. Thus far this method had proved successful. One could even watch her head swell ever so slightly as she witnessed each single double multiplex cluster of lagmen fall at each wave of the saber.

Looney was up to his gahoojawhitts with lagmen and thunder monkeys all coming at him like the five o'clock rush hour. He kept looking around for Jaynie but where she had gone to he did not know. Just wished she would get her besheezabutt back here to the field of battle. Of course he did not know that she was at the moment launching a battle of her own against a primary assault emanating from the Malegar offensive that was true to form entirely offensive. In fact, she had never actually left the field of battle just skittered and scattered and flounced around from cluster battle to cluster battle undergoing in effect multiple wars on the same front. If Looney had seen her in action he would be proud. So she thought. Then again Jaynie was proud enough of her own accomplishments to compensate for 200 or more inattentive Looneys. Such was her world. Left alone to her own devices she had long ago developed her own unique support network that involved much in the way of patting herself on the back, consoling herself, satisfying her need for acknowledgement in any form she could. Perhaps she was a bit on the obsessive side when it came to this. If she reflected on this at length she would no doubt conclude that she was a multiple personality along the lines of Sibyl. And this was something she had already done, having repeated her findings of multi personality positive to more than one among her acquaintances, a disclosure which was typically greeted with silent wide eyed appraisals. To those who already knew her well, it was treated as just another among the many things odd and endearing about Jaynie. To others it was taken as a reason to know her less. Quite a production prototype she had developed: Jaynie 2001.

Overhead, the sounds of a screeching screaming voice—sounding by its resonating pitch and volume a rousing chorus—could clearly be heard. But this was not as could easily be conceived the sounds of a horrifying horde of Harpies. This was of course none other than Jaynie, a lone Harpy if you will, yelling prophetic into the gloom her galvanizing battle cry, Heinäsirkka, heinäsirkka, mene täältä hiiteen! (Grasshopper, grasshopper, go from hence to Hell!) She had picked this up from a phrasebook somewhere and suddenly time out of mind it came to her. Fitting it was as the view from her wind-racing perch presented as much a field of hopping grasshoppers as anything. Accordingly she held Big Effer out in front of her and it brought the weight of its power to bear upon the target. Given that the saber took matters under its own advisement so to speak, Jaynie was free to fly and extemporize and scream and laugh with glee as she imagined herself as Princess Dané leading the Warhammer charge.

The sound of bells drives away demons because they're afraid of the loud noise. And bells were chiming like anticipation of a shortage. From her height Jaynie could see a wide river surrounding the castle and found it kind of odd being that rivers and moats and such were entirely antiquated elements. As she dove in for a closer look—antiquated or not how many times does a girl get a close up view of something so anachronistically grand—she could see that the river-moat-gigantic-plume-of-water was close enough to the walls to make a land approach unpleasant. At the very least a wet slosh indeed. Meanwhile, the gruesome gargoyles looking in suppressed rage from the columns and battlements added a master's touch. From the little she had heard about Malegar, nothing leaving room to doubt he was pure evil, she considered that the castle posed an adequate representation of his predominant traits: big, ugly, monstrous. Then it struck her. Was this the magical clue to the BUGM moniker? Thinking about it for second or two or one she knew to the depths of her that it was. Of course it was. Coincidence does not happen without planning.

It was then she noticed a couple of the lag dudes emerging from the water as if walking out from an underground lair. She dodged behind some boulders which were in ready availability hoping to conceal herself. Unfortunately, the Zipwhizzer was circling the castle holding position until she called. Maybe they would not notice.

"Rracch, Maroca. Lukupareatum Zipwhizzer. Qweer, no?"

"Donowa whizzyfizz ta swirlonitsown. Whadsaya we lukarownd."

"Gharr!"

That went well. Now she had to stay put until they passed or tired of looking. The two poked around looking behind rocks and trees and bushes slapping and cussing and throwing things out of the way. It seemed that these creatures were quick start rage robots. Or maybe zombies. But zombies were not known to chit chat, were they? She thought they would just grunt and groan and stumble along as they looked for people to eat. Naw. Not zombies. Sounded to Jaynie like they were buds three beers into a marathon drinking bout. Anyway that was the way the adults she knew sounded when they were soused. You could say she was experienced in recognizing the telltale swagger and slur. So the robot zombie or near drunk lagmen moseyed about pushing grunting and swearing looking like they were settling in for an epic search. Until they looked at each other as if planned and raced back into the water as they made for the castle. Maybe they were robots and their master had just buzzed them in.

What could be so intriguing about going into the water Jaynie had to know. Staring into its murky face she received a crushing sense of doom, distress, a grimacing sneer from the sea of despair. She stared into its bubbling surface trolling for a glimpse of hope, but the concealing darkness did not burble any happy songs. Creepy. Totally creepy.

"No joy down there," she thought out loud.

If there was some sort of underwater passage maybe that would explain a few things. Like how their troops appeared out of nowhere so sudden and silent. This was too much for her to bear. She had to investigate. She executed a fine dive and went straight down blinking her eyes underwater as she tried to see through the muck. So little was visible she felt like she was in a mud pool. In fact, the water was a bit on the thick side. In the back of her mind was the nagging suspicion that she was swimming into a trap. What if they KNEW she was there and cleverly pretended to race back in as if summoned knowing she would follow. Could they be that clever? Maybe not. But she knew WHO was at the controls of this drone team. No time to think. Gotta stroke and kick and hold hold hold that breath.

Every now and again her hands would brush against something that her imagination made to be sea snakes or eels or gross fish. EEEW! Just the thought was grossing her out. Totally. So she just knew she had better see something real soon or she was gonna bail. Oh Jaynie, you know not the power you possess. Simply thinking this 'now or never' thought caused the water to swirl, the tide to shift, bringing her face to face with a face. A face? No...no. Just some water plants long ago dead and slimed, twisting and turning into a grotesque apparition. And through them, slightly beyond her, a glowing orange-yellow light, flashing dully as if tired. She triple paced her stroke and kick stylings to get in for a close investigation. Beneath the light a cavernous opening presented itself leading to who knew where but she did not think about it more than a second to understand that this must be the passageway. She blazed into the opening pitching her eyes left and right as she went expecting company though none was to be found. Still her comfort level was set to high alert as her skin tingled with dire expectation. Pushing ahead she soon came to an upward swing and when her head broke water she gasped in amazement. There before her was something the likes of which she had only seen in movies, big action movies, ones where a super spy had invaded the enemy holdout. Beams and beacons and glimmering glittering things hanging from the ceiling the walls, the whatevers, an intense buzzing permeating the surrounding air bringing her a sense of other otherworldly wonder. This Malegar character sure loved to play the high tech wonder wizard with his peculiarly chosen layout which looked to her no more than a composite scene of every sci-fi super spy horror movie set. Thankfully no creatures of the horror genre were lurking about like the Creature from the black lagoon. At least she hoped so. It would make sense since great care had been taken to reproduce everything just so in the hopes of evoking terror in the onlooker. Knowing she was lucky to find the place empty she quickly made a move for the landing and scrambled for cover.

The words of Mad Looney suddenly popped into her head as if summoned:

Touch your toes

Touch your nose

Never go in one of those

Until you see a dog

Funny this little poem slash adage. He had conveyed it to her with maximum expository flourish—in true Looney style—the last time they had come upon an opening in the landscape. And now? Hmm. Too late to not go in because she already was and good luck in finding a dog. Come on. A dog?

BARK! BARK!

She had to ask. Directly to her left there was a cute little Maltese or Yorkie barking and wagging and drooling and giving her to understand it wanted to play. She supposed the toes and nose touching were optional for this invocation. Then she saw immediately behind this little canine courier a faintly etched opening that if the dog had not appeared she might not have noticed. At least not immediately. She was after all in hiding.

"Come here little guy," she cooed, baby talking to her new sidekick while holding out her arms to receive it.

The dog shimmied over to her and began licking her hand.

"Oh, you're a sweet thing, aren't ya?"

Feeling suddenly sedate she had almost but not quite forgotten that she must make a bolt for that door the dog had brought to her and quickly followed the command by touching her toes then her nose. To her amazement the door slowly creaked open. Happy could have been one possible reaction. And it would have been the one and only reaction had not the opening door been accompanied by a walloping stench from beyond the grave. Jaynie plugged her nose hoping to escape the pestilent breeze crawling over to the opening with the dog close at hand. Her mind raced with the trepidation of what was in store for her inside this new opening. This was not like playing Let's Make a Deal, and there was no Vanna White presenting her with choices of door number 1, 2, or 3. This was reality, baby. Real reality. The only door presented was chosen of course as had evidently been intended, by whom she did not know, but hoped that somewhere within this follow-the-bouncing-dog plan her friend and consort Mad Looney was involved. After all, it was his adage. Crawling on all fours like her canine friend would have been the preferred stealth method. But Jaynie, intent on evading the stench, chose instead to plug her nose with one hand and squat- walk, moving like a frog on two legs. If not for the strength of her youthful legs this would have resulted in serious monster charley horse cramps.

"Why do I get to do all these gross things that always bring something bad to me?" she whispered through gritted teeth. "I don't...," she trailed off into a prolonged huffing that was half gripe and half labored breathing.

Her furry little friend pranced along in front of her oblivious to her lapse into griping and huffing as if it were headed to a party at canine central. Through her periphery Jaynie absorbed all of the gruesome ill-boding rock landscape around her glancing only occasionally at the dog and wishing more than once she could be one, simply strolling along oblivious to all as if life depended on nothing more than getting to the next step. It also crossed her mind that if she wished it really, could she in fact shape shift into a dog or anything else for that matter making this whole process all the easier. Did not know, could not care more than a smattering. At any rate, her legs were screaming and her arm was dragging the saber behind her and she was sure that if anyone were after her they already knew she was there.

The dog suddenly stopped almost causing Jaynie to trip over it. Thankfully she was able to stop herself by throwing her arm out to her side and balancing her weight against the saber. She looked at the dog with a large "What?" splayed across her face. The dog twisted its head to the side and started motioning with it towards a visible rock cluster. The urgency was not wasted on Jaynie as she quickly dashed to the side and out of view. The dog scurried to join her and cowered at her feet.

"Oh. Lots of help you are. You lead me away then you curl up at my feet?" she huffed, to the innocent blank face staring back at her.

This was just a little purse dog. What did she expect? A St. Bernard it was not, so saving of anyone would have to originate with her. Feeling immediately foolish she softened her approach and rubbed her hand along its shivering little spine as a show of contrition. She knew this little creature could not save her. But still, hope springs eternal when you find yourself at wits end.

Although, this little creature seemed remarkably prescient and astute when it came to leading the way, far beyond the innocent companion act she would expect from so petite a form. She so wanted this whole business to be over but it seemed that with every move she made another delay occurred. Now she was in yet another cave, in the heart of enemy territory, with a tiny pooch as companion and a big heavy saber hitching a ride. Her mind lit up as if plugged into a light socket. Couldn't she just use the saber to blast her way through, vaporizing anyone and anything that got in her way? Sure, she could. Definitely. But there was always the chance that things could still turn against her.

She no longer cared about this adult world weighing of the options and posing pros and cons and whatnots and wearing herself out with the maybes as if it really mattered. A lot less thinking and a lot more action is what she needed. Standing up she held the saber in front of her and lunged forward toward the opening. Moving swiftly past it she was immediately in a vast empty area that went high as ever and echoed her every move like a tunnel. Her eyes were scanning left and right and her heart was pumping as she felt the fear race through her as it quickly converted to instant courage. Running and watching and prepared for attack she was soon getting the impression that there was nothing waiting for her after all. But his could be a cleverly conceived plan to flush her out. It was all happening too fast for her to quantify. So she kept running and scanning and preparing for anything. And when she at last came to the end of her run she found that she was in fact alone, her and the dog, as if a cruel prank was being played at her expense.

She came to a stop and held the saber in front of her, turning from side to side and looking all around one more time, just to check if all was really clear. A flash of light. A rumble of ground. A whisper of invading spirits. And there in front of her was the very being she most wanted to see but least wanted to face: Malegar.

"Thank you for the most speedy delivery, Princess," said Malegar, nimbly plucking the

saber from her grasp as if pulling a feather from a chicken. "Saves me a bit of trouble.

Now, there was a message I wished to convey...Hmm...what was it? Oh yes. If you think you will simply walk out of here you are mistaken. All around you is mine, entirely at my command, non-negotiable. In fact, I can bring you to your knees at will. Care to see?"

His eyes were yellow and green, hypnotic, almost attractive. In stature he was of average height though his demeanor was gonzo gargantuan. And his sudden effortless rush of pure ego was both commanding and repulsive. Why did all the big fat doo doo heads have to be so cocksure as if they were invincible when in the end they lost anyway? Must be some kind of rule in the bad guy rulebook.

She felt suddenly without will and blurted, "Sure. Hit me with your best shot."

Wrong thing to say. In a flash of red/yellow light Jaynie was rudely dropped to her knees, the sharp rubble cutting into her knees. Malegar stood atop her, his head tilted as if listening to something, something she could not hear. All she heard were the stinging nettles of crushing defeat laughing in her ears. A great band, the Stinging Nettles. They did not sound so great at the moment.

The little dog came rushing from behind, charging at Malegar's legs as if to take him down. Too quick in his response, Malegar side kicked the dog sending him careening sidelong into a boulder. The dog hit with a dull thud and a whimper.

"And she has Lilliputian followers. How quaint."

Jaynie's eyes shot over to the dog concern playing across her face. The dog was so tiny, she hoped it was okay. She watched as it struggled to its feet. Then she looked back at Malegar and her rage bubbled to the surface.

"The great Malegar, slayer of miniature creatures. Wow! I'm impressed," Jaynie tittered, rolling her eyes.

"Your jocularity and rude dissension will maybe assist you as you join your luscious mother in the cage of despair. And maybe," he said as he reached for her arm and pinched her flesh between pincer like fingers. "Hmm...a tender morsel indeed. You see, it is that you and your mother are expected in Hell's Kitchen as it were as the main course in the Blood Feast. Unfortunately our acquaintance will come to a rather searing end."

"What ARE you talking about?"

"Oh, excuse my manners. The Blood Feast, an honored and traditional part of the 7 year tithe, is essential to maintain good relations with the supreme master, Satan. He has received much bad press and is contrary to popular belief a marvelous fellow. In order to satiate him we make our offerings as required. This time, my extra special offering will be a faerie queen and her most tender daughter the princess, your mother and you specifically. I am given to understand that after the skewering there is no discomfort at all. He is a renowned grill master."

"Are you saying that—"

"Precisely. Mom and daughter skewered and roasted for the lord Satan's gustatory pleasure. A rather poetic end really. The flaming thorns in my royal backside becoming wickedly delicious grilled kabobs. Voila! Marvelous..."

"You can't do this, Malegar. You can't—"

"Correction, Princess. I can and will. Shall we go and join your spear mate then?"

Malegar began to laugh with a wicked snarl to his voice. "Oh, I am so clever. 'Join your spear mate.' Get it? Join and spear synonymous by function."

"Yeah, very funny. Ha ha ha."

"Now you will stand and do a little dance for me."

Jaynie threw daggers with her eyes, thinking no way am I going to do any such thing. Then she stood up with her arms circling around in front of her and began pirouetting in a circle, real dainty like. Malegar tilted his head from side to side keeping rhythm, evidently enjoying the performance. The look gracing his face was one of profound satisfaction and devious delight. Suddenly in front of him, as if by holographic projection, an animated display appeared where Jaynie, her mother, and nameless others pirouetted and circled a blazing fire each one in turn reaching a point in her circumlocution where she would dive into the flames. Malegar watched this intently as his eyes twinkled. Evidently his thoughts were coming to life before his eyes.

His projected thoughts and devilish grin were not wasted on Jaynie as she understood with chilling clarity the implication of the images before her. A faintly sickened look washed across her face. Yet she kept dancing entirely against her will. He was toying with her and she knew it. She only hoped he had a shorter attention span than he had sadistic imagination. Closing her eyes to disconnect, she let her body continue that which was beyond her control as she allowed herself to drift into a waking dream. There was dad and Aunt Malinda and Leo and...ZAAAP!

A searing electric jolt shot through her.

"No sleeping on the job, Princess. Your dance is rousing, or should I say 'arousing' the natives."

She thought for sure he had popped a cork—rousing the natives indeed—when she looked around her and saw that yes, there were lagmen everywhere around her, licking their lips, making rude gestures, and generally having a rip roaring party with her on display for their pleasure. OMG! No matter where she went guys were still guys. Disgusting!

"You can be sure that if I gave the word they would descend on you like the pack of ravenous wolves they are."

"Oh, I'm sure of that, you #%&@*&#!

"Tsk, tsk. Language language. And such a tender child."

He paused in his monologue to glance at the assembled lagmen horde.

"Pity for them their desires will go unsatisfied. You appear fairly tenderized at this point. Let us not delay. Time to deliver you to the barbeque."

She came to a stop and felt her neck being tugged forward as if there were a rope around her neck. Malegar smiled, turned, and began walking away, dragging her along by invisible leash.

"It is dinnertime, after all. The lord master is waiting..."

Queen Anahit was pacing nervously around her cell no doubt wondering and worrying the whereabouts of her daughter. It had been a seemingly long time since Jaynie had come upon her and begged forgiveness for leaving so soon then going off to seek council with her leader. There was no surprise that Jaynie was everything she had hoped and more for her daughter and again the willowing pain of their long separation tore through her. Could it really have been 14 years since she last laid eyes on her little girl, a little girl who would by needs go forward bravely to face a world where mother was a missing quantity? The blistering pain still cut through her. It had never been her intention to disappear for more than a few months at best. But then...Malegarus interruptus. Life has its own twisting plans.

"Okay, okay. Ease up now. It's not like I won't come along."

Jaynie's voice rippled through the silence jolting Queen Anahit from her reverie. Stunned and appalled she was to note the condition in which her daughter arrived. A bit worn and tired and led by invisible leash. A trickle of long suppressed tears came to her eyes.

It was the smiling eyes and grimacing face of her daughter that was the final straw in her carefully constructed composure. She could feel her hands involuntarily twisting and closing around the neck of the demon that would dare compromise her daughter so.

"So, Malegar. I see you have descended into child abuse. Would it surprise you to find I am unsurprised?"

Malegar glared at her and gave one strong tug to the leash sending Jaynie crashing to the ground.

"Would it surprise you, dear queen, to see I do not give a rat's ass?"

The squabble terminating, or at least stalling, salvo had been launched. Jaynie struggled to her feet while her mother fixed an intense gaze of universal hatred at Malegar.

"Such language from one so self-appointed of esteem."

She did not realize she had played right into his hands.

"Ha! Language? Clearly you have not had the pleasure of hearing the profuse vulgarities championed by your precious daughter. I assure you. Her obnoxious vocabulary would put a salty sailor to shame."

"That may indeed be the case. Though it is clear that her target for such language was appropriately chosen. I have often entertained the most amazing litany of obscenities in your regard."

Malegar shrugged, the universal sign of unconcern. "As joyous as this banter is there is the matter of the Blood Tithe." He glanced out the narrow portal leading to the outer chambers.

"And by the strike of the clock the time is nigh. Time to set you free, queen, for a brief moment of freedom before I deliver you both to your last dinner as it were. It could not get any better than this if I wrote the script myself..." He chuckled and coughed as he luxuriated in his jesting. "Oh...that's right. I DID write the script myself! Ha, ha ha..."

At this point Jaynie was just laying back and listening to him fill himself with himself as he was so fond of doing. The posture she maintained spoke of submission under protest. The clenching of her fists spoke of developing plots. The look on her face was as pure a picture of vicious resolve as could be had. Malegar had released the queen and stood idly by as she passed.

In the next second she passed by Jaynie and brushed her hand. And in that fortuitous elegant contact the leash was unbound. Unfortunately for Malegar he failed to notice, presuming himself the winner of this carefully executed shell game. Along with his premature claiming of victory he had completely and entirely lost sight of the one thing, that sin qua non, that would tip the balance entirely to his opponent. Some are slow, some quick, some so lighting fast it defies definition. In this aspect it was the lighting quick reflexes and stealthy cougar swiftness of Jaynie that seized the moment. Reaching for the Fjärdmir saber was immediately joined with the moment, that decisive moment, when she raised it gracefully but decisively leveling its point toward Malegar. For the first time Jaynie actually felt like a hero.

ZZAAAP...ZZAAPP...BOOOOM...BOOOOM...BABABA-BOOOOM!

In one ratcheting blast felt from Ströndôkkar to Upplandia, a powerful explosion of light and color signaled the sunset of one adventure and the dawn of another. The Faërie Princess had come home...

As you can imagine, queen and princess made quick business of getting the heck out of Dodge.

Once back in Faërieland, you can no doubt also imagine the wild unrestrained merriments that ensued once the queen, long missing and sorely missed, made the rounds in the royal carriage, spreading cheer and unity through the twin virtues of her cherubic presence and delicate queenly wave.

To term the triumphant carousing happening simultaneously around Faërieland a full scale bacchanalia would not be without merit.

*****

Fast forward to the following day, the royal Pink Drawing Room.

There is a prominent display of different types of soups in huge cans, all showing the Campbell's logo.

Queen Anahit enters the room. She is carrying a monstrously large stack of leather-bound papers. Atop the stack is a golden jewel encrusted crown.

She carefully sets the stack on a beautifully ornate end table and smiles at Jaynie.

"This, my darling dearest, is the faërie Tome of Tomes, a comprehensive and binding guide to royal statutes, duties, etcetera."

A faint almost imperceptible wriggling began in the mind of the young princess.

"I've heard that name before from this wizard guy, Ôtar."

The queen's forehead wrinkled as she scrunched her eyes in thought.

"Oh," she said with a chuckle, "I believe you are referring to the Book of Tomes. A vast and grand powerhouse indeed! Yet the Tome of Tomes, while similar in name, bears scant resemblance otherwise. You see, my rosy faced daughter," reaching out to brush her hand across Jaynie's rosy cheek, "the book I now submit for your attention is the one and only compilation of all rules, laws, injunctions, etcetera, relative to Faërieland. It is the height of royal decorum to be thoroughly familiar with the contents of this particular book. In short, it is the royal instruction book."

"Like an Owner's Guide?"

"Tangentially so, yes. Not to be confused with princess training, absolutely essential as you adopt your new role. You will be taught how to manage a relationship burdened with public scrutiny, but training will also include some etiquette training on topics like appropriate behavior and dress, as you become one who must put crown and country before all. There are plenty of beautiful countries that are in desperate need of a gracious and humble Princess. We have our own specialist, Bildör, who coincidentally instructed me in my days as a young princess trainee, so one could say he has been perfecting his methodology for a good many years."

Jaynie's eyes, suddenly uncomfortable being caught in the hot spotlight of her mother's expectant gaze, flashed her princess eyes around the room.

"What's with all the soup like?"

"Hmm," said the queen, shocked at receiving so rude a dismissal of topic, "This is nourishment my dearest darling. Are we unfamiliar with this type ingestible?"

"Uhm...well...WHAT?"

"Clearly we are at cross purposes."

Whatever, thought Jaynie. I didn't think faërie life was all about rules and blah blah blah stuff.

"Oh...food, right? Uh, yeah I'm familiar with this type of food stuff it just seems...I don't know, STRANGE to have these like monster soup cans hanging around your house. Is this like super-size pop art?"

The queen eyes went wide as she graced Jaynie with her most famous and endearing solar smile and the most angelic chuckle.

"On that note, I can understand the dilemma. Please do not deduce by inference that the presence of these large colorful objects denotes them as sustenance. For our purposes, they are merely decorative. Though it would be remiss of me to not inform you that this type vessel is at times employed militarily. It would seem our esteemed military make great sport of rolling these cylindrical containers down sloping lands to intercept an advancing enemy."

"Wow," impressed and agog, "Does that happen a lot?"

"Thankfully, no."

A brief pause as thoughts of large sustenance vessels and rolling weaponry flitted about restlessly before hitching a ride on a passing breeze and exiting the room.

"Now, where were we...Ah yes, the Tome of Tomes. You may place the crown upon your head if you wish as it is yours to possess."

Jaynie grasped the hallowed crown with trepidation, as if it might break or bite her. Placing it gingerly on her head—a bit crooked to which the queen responded by putting it right—Jaynie felt an enlivening surge go through her as if statically charged. The crown suited her completely. She smiled proudly as the queen beamed in matriarchal pleasure.

"Oh my," whispered the queen, a tear rolling down her cheek. "I feared I would never see the day..."

This got Jaynie crying full bore and soon both royal ladies raced full speed into an emotional cul-de-sac, crying and hugging and proclaiming and vowing never to be separated again. And in a saline and mucous kissed muddle both were bound as they had not been since the youthful days when mother and child were inseparable.

"It is only proper, my dear," began the queen, struggling through tears "that we embrace and share emotions in this way as it has been a long, sniff, sniff, and arduous journey indeed. What with escaping and celebrations and such the time just did not come. But today...yes...today, all is put right as it should be."

"I love you mommy!" words she had wanted to shout for many lonely years.

"And I love you more, my little princess."

Oh, mommy had said it! The exact words Jaynie had longed to hear! Like a replay of her most favorite dream. This only brought on the crying tsunami again.

"I missed you mommy, I missed you sooo much. I can't...even...can't..."

Mommy, the queen, knew instinctively what was needed and took her crying quaking daughter into a fear dispelling embrace, one for which her lonesome daughter had waited so many long years. She ran her hands across her little girl's trembling shoulders and through her gloriously curly hair, and in the magic contained within a mother's love, the little girl was healed in more ways than she could ever conceive.

Pulling herself together, the queen began, "My dearest darling. Gracious. Should we continue in this fashion our waterfall of tears will leave us devoid of fluids! Perhaps it is best to steady ourselves by reading together from the Tome of Tomes," the queen, sitting on the floor and placing the heavy volume on her knees. "Preamble, Page 1, Birth of Time and Kindly Nobility..."
