

## The Galactic Adventures of Alex McKenzie

Book I

### Journey To The Land Of The Lonely

### Larry Rosenzweig

Copyright © Larry Rosenzweig 2009

www.larryrosenzweig.com.au

info@larryrosenzweig.com.au

Published by Capital Books (2009)

An imprint of Melbourne Books

www.melbournebooks.com.au

Reprinted by Tingleman Print Media Group (2010)

3/ 11 Brough Street

Springvale, Melbourne, Victoria, 3171

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or any means electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise without the prior permission of the publishers.

National Library of Australia Cataloguing-in-Publication entry Author: Rosenzweig, Larry.

Title: The Galactic Adventures of Alex McKenzie Book 1: Journey to the Land of the Lonely.

ISBN: 9781877096440 (pbk.)

Dewey Number: A823.4

Front and back cover artwork: Heath McKenzie

Image of the planet on the front cover adapted from photo supplied by NASA and the

NSSDC

Images: www.freeimages.co.uk

### ACKNOWLEDGEMENTS

Life's not always fair. Sometimes you can get a splinter even sliding down a rainbow.

— Cherralea Morgen

Special thanks to:

Mel for supporting me.

Alex for challenging me.

Dani for believing in me.

Kaylie for adoring me.

Chockie for listening to me.

The rainbow with splinters is also the one that has the pot of gold at the end. You need to just keep sliding. For nothing good in life should come too easy.

—Larry Rosenzweig

### CHAPTER 1

NEURO

It is well accepted amongst the most respected galactic scholars that the Sethonians were by far the most intelligent known race to have ever existed in the greater universe. They are also credited with having been the most socially inappropriate and disgracefully grubby of all creatures.

News of their annihilation at the hands of the massive Groveld asteroid was greeted with a mixture of emotions. Whilst the galactic scientific community were devastated, all others were glad to be rid of these ill-mannered, foul-smelling, arrogant, know-alls!

Sethonians were like walking encyclopaedias of knowledge, like breathing Google searches. You could ask them the most complicated of questions and almost always get the correct answer, provided you were prepared to endure the continuous nose picking, earwax removal, farting, bum scratching, and burping that accompanied their responses, as well as the wafting stench of their dirty, unbathed bodies.

It was their armpits that were the real killers. Had they kept their arms by their sides, things may have been a little more tolerable. Unfortunately, as they spoke, they waved their arms wildly, causing their armpits to work like powerful toxic pumps. It was therefore always wise to bring along a few clothes pegs to block your nose – just in case.

It was also always advisable to stand at least ten metres upwind of a Sethonian so that your scent wafted towards them, rather than their lethal pong wafting towards you. When it was one of those days where the wind swirled around a lot, you had no choice but to keep shifting your position.

You did not have to worry about explaining why you were continually moving around, though, because Sethonians were so incredibly self-obsessed that they would not have even noticed if you had stripped down to your underwear whilst moving around, or even if you had cut off one leg and swung it from side to side furiously, whilst hopping around on the other leg, singing 'Yankee Doodle Dandy'. Every moment of every day was all about them!

Sethonians also lacked any sense of social etiquette. Their favourite topic of conversation, even at the dinner table, was bodily functions. They would always proudly give anyone willing to listen a totally uncensored account of their daily bowel movements. They also failed to understand the purpose and meaning of small talk or social pleasantries. They did not mince their words and gave absolute down-the-line responses to questions. If for instance, you made the fatal error of greeting them with a throwaway line like, 'Hi, how are you?', be prepared to spend the next hour hearing a blow by blow account, of exactly how they were – from the top of their head to the tip of their toes.

It is said that every sight, sound, touch and smell was analysed by Sethonians and then stored in their enormous brains' vast memory banks for future reference. As their hunger for knowledge and advancement grew over the centuries, their sophisticated brains worked out ways to hijack most of the nutrients that should have gone to other parts of their bodies. Consequently, over time, their brains became progressively larger and their bodies progressively scrawnier. By the time of their recent demise, they resembled massive lollypops on fragile sticks.

Yet their ridiculous appearance did not bother them in the slightest. They believed that they would eventually be able to move around, and move things around, using mental thought alone. So things like arms and legs and fingers and toes would eventually become redundant anyway. They would be unnecessary excess baggage!

Many of them had already started to hover ever so slightly above the ground for a few seconds, totally unaided. It is strongly acknowledged amongst learned galactic scholars that they would have eventually achieved their end goal, were it not for the cataclysmic event that led to their untimely passing.

A lot of the more advanced technology found in the greater universe today is attributed to the Sethonians. They are believed to have built the very first sub-atomic particle thrust spacecraft and to have been the first to discover the wonders of light amplification by stimulated emission of radiation, otherwise known as Laser technology. They are also attributed with having produced the very first hydro-panel.

Prior to its destruction, the planet of Seth resembled one enormous, fully integrated circuit board. The facades of every single house and building cleverly doubled as one useful electronic component or another. They took the shape of enormous circuit breakers, mercury switches, fuses, resistors, filament lamps, capacitors, transformers, solenoids, fuel cells, ceramic resonators, plug and socket connectors, relay switches, inductors... and on and on!

Thousands of the more cutting-edge electronic components that dotted the landscape of Seth are yet to be discovered on Earth. These include _magnidian carbodetheral stabilisers_ , _lazorpidian_ _deflectors_ , _mercuzal vibroformers_ , and _nucleic stretho-resonators_.

Seth's square rather than round shape added to its overall look. At night, the millions of red and blue laser sensors created a skyline more spectacular than the dazzling neon billboards of Las Vegas.

When Seth exploded, technological debris was sent flying into outer space in all directions. It is believed that some of this debris even managed to make its way to Earth years later. Each component's discovery was kept top secret by the governments in power at the time. Countries that were lucky enough to receive these free technological marvels put together teams of their finest scientists and set them the exciting task of unravelling these new technologies and identifying useful future applications.

It is quite possible that the lasers that drive our Nintendo Wiis, Xbox 360s and PS3s, are thanks to the Sethonians. Many innocent earthlings who saw these enormous glowing chunks of technology fall to the ground were rigorously discredited in nasty government-funded smear campaigns. Still, many of the more steadfast accounts, often corroborated by several eyewitnesses, sparked enough interest to get airtime on TV shows like _A Current_ _Affair_ and _60 Minutes_. Of course, all such claims were vehemently denied by those on the government payroll.

From his highly classified location at the infamous military base, Area 51, in southern Nevada, Colonel Jed Rodgers responded to such allegations.

'Hey, Tracey,' laughed Colonel Rodgers arrogantly, 'People love their conspiracy theories, don't they? Next thing, someone will accuse the US government of having poisoned Elvis Presley!'

' _Did_ the US government poison Elvis Presley?' smiled Tracey. 'Of course not!' shouted Colonel Rodgers as his head nodded unconsciously, his pupils dilated, his palms began to sweat, his nose became itchy, and he struggled to swallow.

Neuro Synapse was a very typical-looking 19-year-old Sethonian. He had a massive bald head that was about the size of an inflated beach ball. It housed an enormous, highly sophisticated brain. His scalp was lily-white and its elasticised skin coped well with the pressure exerted on it by his continually expanding brain. His entire scalp and forehead was adorned with hundreds of thick blue veins and red arteries that bulged outwards like ugly keloid scars. The blue veins danced around wildly every time he spoke and gave the impression of wriggling earthworms.

In contrast to his colossal head, his body was skeletally thin. His ribs protruded outwards like sharp daggers, and his elbows and knees looked like painful inflammations on their toothpick-like arms and matchstick-like legs. His shoulders and neck slouched forward under the weight of his head.

His lips were thin and cold, and his yellow, jaundiced-looking eyes were exceptionally creepy. The lazy left eyelid was always no more than half open and its eyeball continually shifted from side to side. The rigid right eyelid was always overly wide open, totally incapable of ever closing (even when he slept), and its eyeball never moved even a millimetre. Both eyes tended to water quite a lot and the left one had the annoying habit of blinking exceedingly rapidly whenever he was thinking.

His ears were very large and also elasticised. They were used as a surrogate handkerchief for his continually dripping nostrils. Consequently, his ears were constantly coated in a thick mucus crust – which he thoroughly enjoyed picking at and eating.

His armpits were the only part of his body that had any hair. And boy, oh boy, were they hairy! Each resembled a full-blown, 20-centimetre-long beard. The hairs were all matted and tangled, and formed several perfect Rastafarian dreadlocks. The hairs housed almost every known species of lice and flea.

The spaces between the four toes on each of his scrawny feet were packed with more sticky black toe-jam than a 200-gram jar of Vegemite. Growing from the base and sides of each foot was a mushroom-like fungus that smelled sulphury and seemed to bubble and fester as he walked. His fingernails looked like ten squashed baby cockroaches and relied on natural attrition for a trim and manicure.

His body skin was damp and clammy, and his hands were wet and slimy. It was like shaking hands with a dead fish that has been left unrefrigerated for an entire week. You felt an overwhelming urge to repeatedly scrub your hands with the strongest possible detergent after shaking hands with him.

Like all Sethonians, he never once considered taking a bath or a shower and stunk like rotting garbage. The intensity of his stench depended completely on when last he had been caught in one of Seth's rare but heavy downpours. It always took a really good soaking to purge his skin of its vile smell.

His teeth were also left to their own devices. As a result, all 15 of the remaining rotten ones were encased in thick layers of yellow plaque. His breath always smelled as if he had just eaten a skunk.

Being a typical Sethonian adolescent, Neuro dedicated most of his time to the pursuit of knowledge and brilliance. He read and memorised volume after volume of the galactic encyclopaedia. With over 50,000 existing volumes and about 100 new volumes added every year, there was plenty to keep him busy. The areas that most interested him were astronomy, quantum physics, and mathematics.

He had been tracking the Groveld asteroid for over five years now, and had recently made a startling discovery. According to his calculations, this enormous, fiery rock had changed its trajectory ever so slightly and was now on a direct collision course with his beloved planet Seth. His calculations spanned more than 10,000 pages and had been meticulously checked and cross-checked over 1000 times.

He rang one of Seth's head scientists, Ruween Flog, and advised him of the impending doom. Ruween consulted other distinguished scientists and mathematicians on this matter. To ease their own minds, they did tests and ran numbers for two weeks straight. At the end of this lengthy and tiresome process, they concluded that Neuro was blatantly wrong and had completely wasted their valuable time.

Neuro begged them to have a look at his calculations rather than rely solely on their own. Ruween and his colleagues found it highly offensive that a 19-year-old kid would have the audacity to challenge their exceptional brains. Despite Neuro having already won several prestigious mathematics and science awards, they were not about to let this 'upstart' undermine their genius, and, less importantly, cause unnecessary panic.

From that point onwards, they treated Neuro with utter contempt. Each time he phoned them, they hung up on him. Each time he sent them a piece of written correspondence, they divided the pages equally amongst them and used them as toilet paper. When he tried to send them the Sethonian equivalent of emails, they would simply press 'Reply', attach a new, sophisticated computer virus and press 'Send'.

On the one and only occasion that he managed to disenable their Fort Knoxish style security systems and enter their fancy offices, they all blocked their ears and started chanting, ' _La_ , _la_ , _la_ , _la_ , _la_ , _la_ , _la_ , _la_ , _la_!' loudly, until he finally gave up trying to speak to them and left defeated.

Despite receiving the cold shoulder from these so-called geniuses, he continued to express his grave concerns to anyone willing to listen. On every occasion though, he was treated like a third-class citizen. Why would they take the word of a 19-year-old kid over the word of a panel of renowned experts? Responses ranged from boredom, to amusement, to pity. Even his parents and siblings started heckling him. 'So, Prophet of Doom, what other disasters do you foresee on the horizon?' laughed his younger brother, Cerebellum.

By this point in time, Neuro had become really bitter and twisted and longed to see the expression of fear on every single imbecile's face, including those of his family, when the Groveld asteroid finally came into view. By then, it would be far too late to escape. He would be vindicated. It would teach them all a lesson for doubting his brilliance.

A few days before the Groveld asteroid was due to hit Seth, Neuro packed his spacecraft with his worldly possessions and sufficient food supplies, and then, without saying goodbye to anyone, left for the safety of a burnt out mini-planet called Silcon. This massive lump of crumbling coal is totally desolate, and a great place to visit if you want complete isolation and not a distraction in the world.

Cerebellum awoke especially early to bid his paranoid older brother a temporary farewell. 'See you soon, Prophet of Doom!' he laughed. 'Enjoy the nothingness that is Silcon... Oh, and please bring me back one of those tacky T-shirts that read, "My brother visited Silcon and all he brought back for me was this burnt out T-shirt!"'

'You won't be seeing me, or anything else for that matter, ever again!' smiled Neuro. 'For the dead cannot see... And the T-shirt that "I" and only "I" will be wearing will read, "They refused to listen to what I said. Yet I am alive and they are all dead!"'

Cerebellum's right eye started to water a bit more than usual and the blue veins on his lily-white scalp twitched furiously. 'We will see about that!' he screamed venomously, and stormed off. 'What if Neuro is right?' he thought nervously.

Having reached Silcon, Neuro impatiently counted down the hours till the main event. He was like an excited kid awaiting their birthday present. He took the opportunity to rehearse the speech that he would soon present to the various galactic satellite news channels. Every single galactic reporter would be dying to get the exclusive scoop on how he managed to be the sole survivor and what it felt like to be the last of his species.

He would definitely embellish the story a little bit to give it maximum impact. He would tell a harrowing tale of how he begged and pleaded with his family members to board his spacecraft, and how they stubbornly refused. He would secretly squeeze a tiny slice of raw Gunnee (a vegetable similar to an onion) into his eyes to create artificial tears as he spoke. The fact that this was a complete fabrication did not seem to bother him in the slightest. 'If the audience wants tears and emotion, that is what I will give them!' he thought aloud.

If things went well, perhaps he would even be invited to appear on the highest rating of all galactic shows, _Late Night Live with_ _Speldig Slive_! What an amazing platform this would be for him to belittle all of the nincompoops who doubted him and to gloat about his personal genius. The fact that he would be rubbishing the dead did not seem to bother him either.

He was really glad that he had kept his 10,000-page journal of mathematical calculations. This would serve as proof of his genius to anyone who doubted his story. This journal would no doubt sell for a huge amount one day on the online Galacbay. He imagined the movie and book deals that would soon follow. Who would play the role of him in the movie, though? Who would have a big enough head?

Finally, the moment of impact arrived and he counted it down joyously. 'Ten, nine, eight, seven...' He then calmly opened a packet of Bedew (similar to popcorn) and chewed away as he watched the greatest fireworks display of his life. Seth exploded with the same intensity as an egg in a microwave. It literally splattered in all directions – polluting space with a deluge of electronic components and gadgetry.

'I told you! I told you! I told you!' he screamed with absolute delight. But when it was all over, he cried like a baby. He had lost his family, his species, and his planet. He soon composed himself and swore that this would be the last time he would ever cry; the last time he would ever show weakness. From this point onwards, it would all be about him!

'Should I reveal myself now to the rest of the galaxy or wait a few days for maximum impact?' he thought aloud, rubbing his damp, slimy hands together gleefully. 'Lying low for a few days is definitely the better option. Let them first talk about us Sethonians as being extinct. Let them do their insincere obituaries, pathetic reflections and faulty analyses of us as a species. Then, I will reveal myself and force them to update their blogs from _Extinct_ to _Almost_ _Extinct_! This should cause quite a stir!... Hmm, what can I do in the meantime to burn some time?'

For now, he would have to be content with picking his nose, biting his fungicidal toenails, and contemplating his future. He could never have predicted the series of events that were about to unfold and how they would impact on his future...

### CHAPTER 2

### MAJIKA, FLOPSY & WANDINA

On a far more primitive yet magical planet in a completely different dimension, a petite teenage Sugar fairy named Majika was gently awoken by the dappled lime-green sunlight that filtered in through the finely woven Drudger silk curtain adorning her circular bedroom window.

The bedroom window frame was made from a broad section of Squattle tree trunk that had been hollowed out. The Drudger silk curtain fitted over its circular opening like a tight glove and hooked onto its rough outer bark. In the hollowed-out tree trunk, there lived a family of obsessive-compulsive Drudger worms. They created and maintained the silk curtain. As with most perfectionists, they were also extreme 'grumpy bums'.

Although Majika normally liked to luxuriate under the warmth of her comfy Guffy feather quilt for at least a half hour before rising, there was no time for lazing about today. On top of it being her turn to visit the ancient, magical Shrewd trees and talk to them, she also needed to prepare herself for the final of the 'Fastest Sugar fairy in Flush Fleas' race that she would be competing in later this morning. Her opponent for the final was none other than her rich and snobby Sugar Fairy neighbour, Wandina Flishy.

Majika stood up and stretched her arms, then her legs, and then her wings. Her fully outstretched wings spanned close to one metre – almost twice her height. Effortlessly, she ripped a gaping hole into a section of the Drudger silk curtain that corresponded perfectly with her line of sight.

To the family of Drudger worms, who had been peacefully sleeping on the outside of the silk curtain, Majika's gentle ripping action felt like a full-scale earthquake. They awoke with great shock and rushed towards the massive tear in their silk canvas to assess the damage. They all stuck their tiny little heads around the frayed edges of the gaping hole and stared at Majika furiously. If they had been able to speak aloud, they would have said to her, 'How dare you rip a hole in our beautiful artwork! Who do you think is going to have to fix it now?'

Fortunately, they could not speak aloud and instead resigned themselves to the tiresome task of mending the tear to their beloved canvas all by themselves. Being obsessive-compulsives, they would not rest until it was fixed to their exacting standards. It was the same routine every day: Majika would tear, they would then glare, and then frantically repair!

'Sorry my darling Drudgers!' smiled Majika sincerely. 'I know that I put you all through this trauma every morning and I feel awfully bad about it. Honestly I do! But how else am I meant to see out of my window frame each morning? Your beautiful silk artwork blocks my view!'

As usual, her apology was rejected out of hand. The Drudger worms could be seen silently mumbling and muttering to themselves as they busily spun new silky thread and sewed like possessed demons. The colour of the new threads that this disgruntled bunch produced always varied in accordance with what they ingested the day before.

Through the rapidly closing hole, Majika stared with joy at the magnificent day that was unfolding in Flush Fleas – the magical home to thousands of Sugar fairies like herself, her mum, and her two older sisters; thousands of Soul wizards like her dad; hundreds of adorable pet Wobbits; and of course, the thousands of 'grumpy-bum' Drudger worms.

The bright lime-green sun shone proudly on the massive navy-blue-leafed Sugar Fruit tree that dominated her parents' well-manicured front yard. Despite this thousand-year-old monolith being over 40 metres tall and two metres wide, many of its spindly, produce-laden branches had succumbed to gravity and now hung within centimetres of kissing the dark purple, lavender-scented grass that covered the ground below.

On one of its lowest lying yellow speckled branches, large bunches of ruby-red candy-cane shaped Sugar Fruits reached down even further. Aided by a slight breeze, they gently swept forwards and backwards over the dark purple blades of grass. Their minor interference caused the grass to release its fragrant lavender scent.

'Yummy! Yummy! Yummy!' thought Majika with delight as she stared at all the delicious Sugar Fruits. They were her favourite of all sugary treats. And her diet consisted of nothing other than sugary treats! You see, raw sugar is the only thing that Sugar fairies can safely consume. Their digestive systems are simply incapable of metabolising anything else. Everything else fails to break down properly and ferments in their stomachs for days on end, giving them really bad tummy aches and blackening their otherwise joyful moods.

Majika also looked out with a tinge of envy, at the enormous star-shaped house of her wealthy neighbours, the Flishys. This colossal five-armed structure was built using expensive semi translucent pink and turquoise Zophobian crystals blocks. Whilst two of its pointy arms were buried thigh deep in the orange clayey soil, the other three points rose high into the air. The tip of the upwards facing arm reached a staggering 15 metres above ground level. Its thousands of alternating pink and turquoise crystal blocks projected colourful patterns onto the lush carpet of dark purple grass below. It completely eclipsed the modest, twisted and bended, severely lopsided stack of crudely connected Warpel tree trunks that Majika's family called home.

Majika was puzzled by why the Flishys chose to build their extravagant house in such a humble, working class Flushflean neighbourhood. Its enormous size, star shape, and crystal cladding looked totally out of place amongst the tiny, lopsided, crisscrossing pretzel-like homes that surrounded it. The Flishys could have easily afforded to live in one of the wealthier suburbs of Flush Fleas, where the use of Zophobian crystal blocks was commonplace and astronomy-inspired designs were considered very trendy. Their house would have blended in very nicely with the moon-shaped design of the Fleeters' mansion, or the lightning bolts of the Flumbellys' award-winning creation.

The odd choice of location all came down to the Flishys extreme desire to always feel like they were better than everyone else who surrounded them. If they had lived amongst the other wealthy citizens of Flush Fleas, they would not have stood out as important. But by living amongst the common, working class riffraff, it made them feel like celebrities, like royalty.

Their spoilt and pretentious Sugar fairy daughter, Wandina, was given the entire left-pointing arm of the enormous star as her bedroom. Ten of Majika's cramped little bedrooms could easily have fit into its enormous, elongated triangular shape. The internal furnishings reeked of extravagance and pomposity – from the beautifully turned Holidian iron bedposts with inlayed Shimmer stones, to the pink Crungil satin bed-sheets, to the purple Modesta unicorn tail-hair carpeting.

From the pointy tip of her crystal-clad bedroom, Wandina would stare down at Majika and smile scornfully as their eyes met. Majika always thought of Wandina as being the princess and herself as being the pauper. Her mind swam with many vivid stories that were quite similar in nature to the stories of Cinderella and Sleeping Beauty. In the end, she became the princess and Wandina became the pauper. However, unlike Wandina, she still treated everyone – including Wandina – with respect and kindness.

Clad in little more than skimpy Drudger silk pyjamas and Liticky lace shoes resembling ballet slippers, Majika hop-skipped her way towards the rickety front door of her parents' house. She hop-skipped instead of walking because Sugar Fairies are incapable of walking. The soles of their feet are way too springy for as static an activity as walking. They go straight from crawling to hopping and skipping.

As she cleared the front door, she was enthusiastically greeted by her pet Wobbit, Flopsy. This adorable, goofy-looking creature has the face of a bloated rabbit and the body of a fully grown polar bear. He is covered from head to toe in thick, long, snow-white fur. He has soft, pink, padded paws instead of claws, no teeth whatsoever, and his liquorice-black tongue feels like warm jelly.

A few months ago, a young Soul wizard mischievously used his wand magic to turn Flopsy's snow-white fur coat into a colourful rainbow blend. Whilst Majika thought it looked really cool, Flopsy felt awfully self-conscious and refused to come out and play. Fortunately, Majika was able to easily reverse the magic with her beautifully carved Shrewd wood wand.

Flopsy was so excited to see Majika up this early in the morning. His black, jelly-like tongue bounced from side to side in his wide open mouth, and wads of dribble sprayed out in all directions. His bushy tail did full 360-degree motions and his rabbit-like ears stood on end. Having plastered every last inch of Majika's tiny face with lukewarm slobber, Flopsy rolled onto his back and frantically pointed with his pink padded paws at his fluffy white tummy.

'Sorry, Flopsy!' smiled Majika. 'I don't have time to give you tummy tickles right now! It is my turn to visit the Shrewd trees and I don't want to be late!'

Flopsy burst into such enormous tears of disappointment that fountains of water shot more than two metres into the air and created small puddles on either side of him. His intense reaction pulled at Majika's heartstrings. She was a real softie and could not bear to see him cry like this.

'You win!' she smiled 'But only for a few minutes, okay?' Flopsy's bushy tail excitedly thrashed from side to side on the ground as he arched his back and thrust his tummy upwards in anticipation. He giggled with pure delight as her delicate hands reached deep down through his fur and made contact with his extremely ticklish bellybutton. When she finally worked her hands towards his most sensitive area of all, the sides of his ribcage, all four of his limbs began to move forwards and backwards frenetically, as if he were running on his back. He yelped with pleasure in a tone that sounded almost identical to the loveable cartoon character Scooby Doo.

Having tickled Flopsy for a full ten minutes and partially placated him – at least for the time being – Majika made a hop-skip dash towards the Mystical forest and its amazing residents, the Shrewd trees, affectionately known as 'Shrewdies'. Flopsy followed close behind her.

Despite having the body of a polar bear, he hopped around like a rabbit. It was really quite weird to watch and seemed to defy physics. He had a wonderfully endearing habit of sucking on the tips of his enormous ears when he hopped around with any sort of pace. He always tucked the tips into his mouth just before setting off. This prevented them from repeatedly slapping him in the face.

Whilst Majika could have as easily flown to the Mystical forest if she had chosen to, she deliberately elected not to because she wanted to conserve every last bit of wing energy for the exceedingly important race later today.

Besides, nothing was more fun than bouncing one's way across the spongy rainbow bridge that allowed one to cross over the beautiful stream that separated suburbia from the Mystical forest. It had been created by the most famous of 'rainbow makers', Romulus Bowrain. It even had side rails to prevent the less agile Soul wizards from sliding down its slippery surface. Majika had never once used these side rails; neither had Flopsy.

As Majika reached the end of her street, she was distracted by a mischievous group of adolescent Soul wizard boys who had deliberately bypassed the safety barriers that cordoned off an area of highly volatile and aptly named Jumping trees. As the name suggests, these odd trees are capable of propelling themselves into the air, roots and all, in excess of 30 metres. Why certain members of this odd species of tree suddenly begin to heat up and then eventually explode upwards remains a complete mystery – along with many other strange and wonderful things that occur in magical Flush Fleas. Talk about going out with a bang!

The wizard boys were stupidly standing under one of the Jumping trees that was about to explode and propel itself into the air. They knew that this particular specimen was about to launch itself skywards because its normally black tree trunk was glowing red-hot.

All Soul wizard boys felt an overwhelming need to prove their 'wizardlyness' by playing 'dare' with these exploding trees. They loved the thrill and excitement of chancing their arm and running for their lives when the tree finally exploded. It gave them a real adrenaline rush.

A loud exploding sound rang out as the Jumping tree in question launched itself into the air. The young boys' screams could be clearly heard as they frantically scattered and ran for their lives in all directions. This particular Jumping tree launched itself an impressive 25 metres into the air.

The loud bang also gave Flopsy an enormous fright. He tried to jump into Majika's tiny little arms like a frightened baby seeking den. Majika only just managed to move out of the way in time and avoid being squashed. Flopsy landed flush on his well-padded, furry backside. He immediately covered his eyes with his massive ears and rolled himself into a little (or rather, enormous) ball. Surely, he thought, if he could not see the cause of the bang or be seen by the cause of the bang, then it could not hurt him.

'Aaah!' screamed a young Soul Wizard boy named Eldorian as the Jumping tree came crashing down directly on top of him and flattened him like a pancake.

'Did you forget that you are meant to get out of the way, Eldorian?' laughed his best friend Felterain mockingly. Eldorian's face was so tightly squashed into the ground that he could not even move his lips properly to reply. What he tried to say was, 'Very funny, Felterain... now get it off me!' What came out of his mouth, instead, sounded more like this, 'VrrryfnnnnyiFlteraaiiiin... Nwwgttt tt offff mee!'

'What was that?' laughed Felterain and listened with joy to Eldorian's even more mumbled and incoherent second attempt at a response.

'Isssaaiidddd VrrrrrryfnnnnyFlteraaiiiin!... Nwwgggttt ttttt ooooff meeeeee!'

'Okay, okay, enough already!' laughed one of the more responsible Soul wizard boys, Zoola. He was the leader of the group and, confidentially, Majika's crush. 'We've had our fun, now let's get this Jumping tree off him.'

'Please, not yet, Zoola!' pleaded another of the Soul wizards named Spledan. 'Can't we just savour the moment for a little bit longer first!'

The reason that there was no panic, nor even a skerrick of concern in any of the boys' voices, was because they all knew that Eldorian was absolutely fine. After all, Soul wizards are totally incapable of being hurt. This is due to the fact that their bodies are made of a synthetic rubber. They do not have a single bone or vital organ. It is the pure magic contained within their invisible souls that power their synthetic bodies. Sugar fairies, on the other hand, are 100 percent flesh-and-bone construction and must therefore steer well clear of these exploding Jumping trees.

So, apart from the humiliation of having been crushed and the few hours of heckling that would no doubt follow, Eldorian would make a complete recovery. His synthetic rubber form had been badly ripped and ruptured and would probably also need to be replaced – using a process known as 'form renewal'.

You are probably thinking to yourself, why do Soul wizards even bother with these heavy synthetic rubber forms? The answer is simple. In their natural state, Soul wizards take no form whatsoever. They are completely invisible to all creatures except one another. They therefore use their complex magic to create their synthetic Bend rubber forms so that they can be seen and embraced by their Sugar fairy loved ones. I will go into a detailed description of how they create their new forms out of Bend rubber a little bit later on, once I've formally introduced you to the one and only living supreme Soul wizard, Dementia.

Having left Eldorian to stew with humiliation for long enough, the Soul wizard boys all waved their intricately carved Shrewd wood wands at exactly the same time and the Jumping tree trunk lifted into the air. Eldorian's mangled rubber form hurriedly rolled itself out of the way. His friends then released their magical grip on the heavy tree trunk and it came crashing back to the ground once again.

Felterain and another young Soul wizard boy, Framilo, lifted Eldorian's distorted rubber form to its feet. His legs were too damaged to walk unaided. He would need to create a new form as soon as he got home.

'Why do you boys insist on playing such a silly game?' asked Majika, flirtatiously eyeing Zoola.

'Because we can!' laughed Zoola and blew her a kiss.

Majika blushed coyly as she hop-skipped her way past Zoola. 'What a spunk!' she thought to herself. Her wings quivered with delight. She felt that he had done an excellent job with the creation of his synthetic form. She loved his selection of indigo-blue eyes with tiny olive-green speckles around the edges, blonde shoulder-length hair, masculine square chin, and high, elevated cheek bones. He stood about six foot tall and assumed the body of a well-toned athlete.

Majika had already made a mental note that if ever the two of them began dating, she would consider asking him to make his nose a little less pointy and to change his hair colour to black. Other than that, he was perfect!

Still deep in happy thought, Majika hop-skipped her way past a considerably younger group of Sugar fairies, who were busily scooping out the putty-like insides of an expired Squattle tree trunk. She did not even see them wave hello.

Squattle trees are very odd indeed. They grow wider than they do high. The largest ones have a circumference of up to two metres and a height less than one metre. Whilst their outer bark and outermost layers of wood are very tough and quite difficult to saw through, the inner wood has the consistency of play dough.

Once they had scooped out enough of its soft, malleable insides, they planned to share the spoils evenly amongst one another and then spend the next few hours creating sculptures of stars, moons, suns, rainbows, wands, and smaller versions of their enormous pet Wobbits.

A group of young Soul wizards suddenly appeared out of nowhere and ran off with large handfuls of the soft, squishy wood. The young Sugar fairies were devastated and all burst into tears.

'Don't worry, girls!' shouted one of Majika's teenage Sugar Fairy friends, Crystalina, and set chase after the naughty Soul wizard boys. Although vastly outnumbered, she had the advantage of flight and speed. She also had a backpack filled to the brim with juicy black Murkleberries. The boys abandoned the Squattle wood putty and ran for their lives as she pelted them repeatedly with these berries.

'Well done!' Crystalina cheered Majika.

'A-roooh!' agreed Flopsy enthusiastically. Although Flopsy understood very little and did not have the slightest clue as to what he was agreeing to right now, he did read Sugar fairy and Soul wizard body language and emotions fairly well. So he knew that Majika was currently pleased. And if she was pleased, so was he!

'Thanks, Majika!' replied Crystalina. 'By the way, good luck for the race later today! I hope you kick Wandina's snobby butt!'

'Thanks, Crystalina! So do I!' continued Majika.

'Where are you and Flopsy off to in such a hurry?' asked Crystalina.

'The Shrewd trees... It's my turn to speak to them!' replied Majika excitedly.

'Awesome! Lucky you!' exclaimed Crystalina. 'Please send them my love!'

'I will do!' smiled Majika and hurried onwards.

Majika and Flopsy bounced their way over the rainbow bridge and into the Mystical forest. The moment they entered its sacred grounds, both could feel the magical, spiritual, highly charged energy being emitted by its thousands of ancient, yet still very alive, Shrewd tree residents.

These Shrewdies are the only known species of tree that require nothing other than the spoken word in order to survive and prosper. The orange soil surrounding them serves merely to anchor them to the ground. They do not require even a single drop of water or air to survive. They are like giant knowledge sponges and take in everything that goes on around them for miles.

They have the ability to capture words and sentences that have been spoken hours and even days earlier from long distances away, as the breeze carries their distinct auditory vibrations. Each new snippet of knowledge energises them and makes them grow. The proximity of the creature making the utterances and the relevance of its content determines the speed at which the Shrewdies grow. If one was able to deprive them completely of the spoken word, they would slowly begin to wither and would eventually die.

This knowledge-rich Shrewd tree wood is used to make the Sugar fairies' and Soul wizards' powerful wands. So, by feeding the Shrewdies as much information as possible, from as close a distance as possible, the Flushfleans are effectively investing in the quality of their own future wands. Many Shrewd trees are over 100,000 years old. Their knowledge base is therefore huge, making them very wise and astute. They somehow manage to convert this knowledge energy into magic energy.

Majika knew that the Shrewdies also thrived on gossip, and she desperately needed to have a heartfelt 'bitch session' about the snooty Wandina. So, it would be a win-win situation. Gossip was as tasty as after-dinner mints and as nutritious as raw vegetables to Shrewdies.

As Majika happily 'bitched' away, the Shrewdies all leaned forward towards her attentively. 'She hops and skips around as if she owns the place!' cried Majika. 'And she never has a nice thing to say about anyone. She is always trying to outdo everyone. I would give anything to beat her in the race today!'

'U-roooh!' agreed Flopsy loudly.

The Shrewdies were clearly enjoying this verbal feast because lots of popping and groaning sounds rang out as thousands of new maroon leaves sprouted and many green limbs grew just a little bit longer. They all knew Wandina only too well. All she ever spoke about was how much better she and her family were than everyone else. It made their bark crawl. It would be nice if someone could cut her down to size.

The Shrewdies' only frustration was that although they could listen, they were unable to vocalise their thoughts. They would have loved to have joined in the bitching session. Still, at least they could talk amongst one another using mental telepathy.

However, because these conversations were little more than a rehash of information that they all already knew, they offered about as much nutritional value as chomping on plain-coloured cardboard. Furthermore, the goings-on of their own daily lives added very little spice. The fact that young Saprootus had grown a new branch or that Knottedbark had shed a few leaves was hardly inspiring stuff. Hence, they resigned themselves to being the world's best listeners and eavesdroppers.

The famous and highly sought after supreme wands that are only given to supreme Soul wizards, are made exclusively from the wood of the two oldest known Shrewd trees still alive – Lady Woodsworth and Sir Branchalot. These beautiful, ancient specimens are over 170,000 years old and have seen and heard a great deal over their lifetimes. Their massive trunks are libraries of knowledge and their magical powers are second to none.

Having completed her venting session and cleansed her soul, Majika hop-skipped her way back home. Flopsy tucked the tips of his ears into his mouth and followed once again.

On the way back, they passed a large group of very young Soul wizards and Sugar fairies who had divided themselves into two equal teams and were engaged in one of Majika's favourite childhood games – Drudger worm hunting and gathering. They were busily scouring the hollowed out Squattle wood window frames of the surrounding pretzel-like houses and the large navy-blue leaves of the Sugar Fruit trees for these evasive worms.

Despite being at least twice as large and juicy as their silkworm cousins, Drudger worms are not so easy to spot and present their hunters with a real challenge. This is because they mimic the hues and textures of their surroundings with more accuracy and cunning than even the finest chameleons. This advanced form of camouflage also helps to conceal them from the prying eyes of the ravenous Flexan birds that circle the lime-green skies above, and consider them a real delicacy. They are only easy to see when they raise their tiny heads in anger. However, they only do this when they _want_ to be seen!

The irate Drudger worms would be set free by the Soul wizard boys and Sugar fairy girls as soon as their totals had been tallied up and it was determined which team had collected more of them within the allocated time frame. The winning team reserved boasting rights.

About 50 metres before home, Majika came upon an older Soul wizard boy and his younger Sugar fairy sister, who were testing out their balance by walking along the very thin and decidedly distorted trunk of a Warpel tree that had fallen to the ground in their front yard. Whilst the young Soul wizard boy slowly and cautiously negotiated his way along its treacherous path, his Sugar fairy sister hopped and skipped her way along with great pace and absolute abandon.

Whenever she lost her balance, she simply flapped her wings and flew off before hitting the ground. Every time he lost his balance, he would hit the ground like a heavy stone. It brought great delight to his younger Sugar fairy sister.

'You have to watch where you step Flezzard!' she laughed joyously.

With great enthusiasm and excitement, Flopsy also tried to negotiate this flimsy circuit. He looked like a hippopotamus on a tightrope. As he reached the midpoint, the tree trunk snapped under his bulking weight and Flopsy came crashing down. He had no idea as to what had just happened and crouched down nervously, expecting another loud explosion to follow. He placed his ears over his eyes and then his paws over his ears.

'It's okay, Flopsy!' smiled Majika reassuringly.

Before heading into her own pretzel-like home, Majika approached the enormous Sugar Fruit tree in her parents' front yard. It was bursting with hundreds of ruby-red Sugar Fruits. Their sweet syrupy aroma competed strongly with the deep lavender scent wafting from the purple grass that she and Flopsy had just trampled. Their distinctive candy-cane shape made them very easy to grab hold of and pluck. They hung down invitingly in bunches of up to ten.

As Majika snapped off a large bunch from one of the lower lying branches, she jumped backwards to prevent being whacked in the face as the branch's lightened weight caused it to viciously recoil upwards. There are many documented cases of lackadaisical Sugar fairies being seriously injured by recoiling Sugar Fruit branches.

Having captured her valuable cargo, she headed back indoors to consume them for breakfast. Before stepping inside, though, she handed one of the Sugar Fruits to Flopsy. They were his favourites. His bushy tail wagged wildly and gooey slobber dripped from his lips. It always puzzled Majika why Flopsy never simply helped himself to Sugar Fruits from the abundant tree. The yummy fruits stared him in the face all day long. All the other Wobbits in the neighbourhood helped themselves to Sugar Fruits, yet he always waited for her to feed him. How could he fail to figure it out? Oh well, what he lacked in intelligence he made up for in charm and charisma. He was a very simple, but loveable, chap.

Flopsy was not allowed inside the crisscrossing pretzel-shaped house on account of his forever-moulting coat and his enormous size. Majika's Sugar fairy mum, Lilypod, hated doing housework and did not wish to add cleaning up Flopsy's mess to her list of daily chores. Majika's Soul wizard dad, Wizend, was convinced that the creaking floorboards would snap under Flopsy's weight. He had better things to do with his spare time than add further repair jobs to the already crumbling house.

The high sugar content of the Sugar Fruits always gave Flopsy an enormous head-rush and he would spend the next half hour frantically doing tight circles around the house – hopping circles that is! Imagine the carnage that he would have caused if allowed inside. It would have been like a bull in a china shop.

Having seated herself at the crude-looking lump of Squattle wood that functioned as their breakfast table, Majika vigorously chewed on each of the canes. She made sure that she extracted every last drop of sugar, whilst at the same time, taking great care not to consume any of the fibrous pulp. The last thing she wanted was to have to fly later today with a sore tummy.

It is good advice to never walk under the path of a group of Sugar fairies who are chewing on Sugar Fruits whilst in flight. If you do, you may just find yourself getting pelted from above by wads of soggy pulp.

After treating herself to a generous portion of Sugar Fruits, Majika returned to her bedroom – or as Lilypod liked to call it, her 'witch's den'. Lilypod referred to it in this horrible way because the walls and ceiling were decorated with small fragments of black Zophobian crystal that Majika had extracted from the rocky outcrops of Glem Mountain.

Lilypod frequently went outdoors to discuss her dislike of Majika's bedroom with Flopsy. He was a perfect sounding-board because he listened ever so intently and never once argued back. The fact that he had no idea what she was talking about, other than that it involved his beloved Majika, did not seem to bother Lilypod in the slightest. Her hubby, Wizend, and her two older daughters, Honeypop and Twinkledust, were tired of hearing Lilypod constantly whinge about it and would either leave the room or change the topic.

'Instead of tastefully decorating her bedroom in beautiful pink and purple colours like all of her friends, Flopsy,' Lilypod would cry, 'our Majika chooses to line the walls and ceiling with pieces of gloomy, bad-luck-bringing, _black_ Zophobian crystal! Why, Flopsy, why?' Mimicking Lilypod's strong body language, Flopsy would also shrug his enormous shoulders and role his eyes upwards.

Whilst Honeypop and Twinkledust did not go on and on about it, they also failed to understand Majika's obsession with the colour black, and liked to tease her about it. They often removed the black pointed witch's hat from their box of dress-ups and gently placed it on Majika's head as she slept. There was never any malice intended though. It was all done in the spirit of good fun.

Sitting comfortably on the edge her Guffy feather filled mattress, Majika started the tedious task of grooming her wings. On this particular morning, she needed to take far more care than normal because very soon, she would be racing Wandina for the coveted title of 'Fastest Sugar fairy in Flush Fleas'. Both girls had already convincingly defeated all five of their other opponents in the preceding weeks' races.

Majika knew that her wings would have to be perfectly groomed if she was to have any hope of defeating Wandina. This was because Wandina held a whopping 20-centimetre wingspan advantage over Majika. This blatantly obvious sudden increase in Wandina's wingspan had occurred a few months ago and was very suspicious because Sugar fairy wings tend to only grow at a rate of about two millimetres each year. On top of this massive wingspan advantage, Wandina had been receiving ongoing flight training lessons from the legendary speed queen, Spellina Ruffietin.

Despite Wandina's obvious advantages, Majika still felt confident because the one thing that she knew that she had in her favour was an abundance of courage and determination. The only reason she had defeated her other five opponents was because she had out-flapped them. She was the only Sugar fairy capable of producing as many as 30 complete upwards and downwards motions every second. It was Majika's once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to put Wandina in her place and nothing was going to prevent her from achieving this... or so she thought.

Majika had recently sprouted new, firm, shiny white feathers on her wings. The timing of this growth spurt could not have been more perfect. As she admired the new feathers, she took huge satisfaction in plucking out the old, limp ones. Wing grooming and maintenance was essential if one hoped to attain optimal flying speed. Magnificently kept wings were also seen as a sign of great beauty by the Soul wizards with whom Sugar fairies mated. She hoped that Zoola would notice her beautiful, pristine plumage.

To this end, she opened a jar of Polyfoma oil and vigorously rubbed a generous amount into both wings. Polyfoma oil is exorbitantly expensive because Polyfoma plants are very rare, well-camouflaged, and grow extremely slowly. The oil is therefore only used on very important occasions. For Majika, nothing in her life to date was more important than today's race.

Satisfied with her wings, she turned her attention to her outfit. Despite her mother insisting that she wear a colourful, sparkling leotard, she instead chose one of her favourite black satin ones.

'Black is such a cold colour, Majika!' shouted Lilypod. 'It symbolises misery and gloom. Why can't you be like all the other fairies and dress appropriately? We are Sugar fairies Majika, not witches!'

'No need to get your wings in a flap, Mum!' retorted Majika, rather disrespectfully. 'Black may symbolise horrible things to you, but it makes me feel like an individual. And that makes me feel good about myself!'

'Great!' cried Lilypod. 'The most important day in my daughter's life, and she chooses to dress like a Brandenberg witch. Wizend, please talk some sense into her!'

Wizend resented being dragged into domestic disputes and refused to offer any comment. If truth be told, he did not care how she chose to dress. He would have been as proud of her even if she had chosen to add a black witch's cloak and pointy hat to the ensemble.

Her mother's comment made Majika all the more determined to look the way _she_ wanted to look. To this end, she furiously worked a generous amount of pitch black Murkleberry juice into the silky blonde hair that flowed down to her waist. Murkleberry juice stains anything that it comes into contact with and is very difficult to remove once it dries.

Young Sugar fairies spend hours on end scrubbing their faces and bodies after engaging in organised games of Murkleberry 'stingers' against the Soul wizards. Whilst being hit by a Murkleberry, even at close range, is fairly painless, these juicy berries splatter in all directions and leave huge stains.

Although Sugar fairies obviously feel that the tedious task of cleaning up is well and truly compensated for by the fun they have playing this frenetic game, they do envy their young Soul wizard opponents, who simply abandon their blemished synthetic bodies and create new clean ones out of Bend rubber.

Having laboriously blackened every last hair follicle, Majika then set about mixing Murkleberry juice with Guffy bird egg yolk to make her signature pitch black, stodgy, home-brewed makeup. Guffy bird eggs are about six times larger than ostrich eggs and Sugar fairies are about a third of the size of your average female human. If you do the maths, you will realise that she only required a small portion of the overall yolk available to make a generous portion of makeup.

Nothing would go to waste though. The rest of the yolk would be eaten by Wizend for breakfast and the two equal halves of the shell would be used to fashion excellent new baths for Sugar fairies. He would decorate them beautifully and sell them at the local market to supplement their income.

Wizend enjoyed nothing more than pouring copious amounts of the runny yolk over doorstopper-sized pieces of freshly cooked Rising flower bread that Lilypod made every morning using her closely guarded, award-winning recipe.

Rising flowers are so named because the entire flower head, including their pretty pink petals, go floating up into the air the moment they are released from the powerful roots and stems that anchor them to the ground. The ascending flower heads are captured in nets that resemble those used to catch butterflies. Their capture is considered a real fun activity by younger Sugar fairies. One Sugar fairy snips the stems just below the flower head whilst the other sugar fairy nets the rising flower heads.

When added to the bread mix and then heated, it causes the loaves of bread to ascend all the way up to the top of the purpose-built, two-storey-high kitchen ceilings. It is a good thing that Sugar fairies can fly up to retrieve these loaves of bread because Soul wizards cannot. Their Bend rubber bodies weigh them down.

Although Soul wizards' bodies are purely ornamental and technically do not require food in order to survive, their synthetic taste buds are very sophisticated and food brings them a great amount of pleasure.

Anyway, getting back to our budding beautician... Majika meticulously applied the stodgy black makeup to her long, curly eyelashes, luscious lips, and well-manicured finger and toenails. The gothic queen of the Sugar fairy world was now ready for the race! Despite smelling like an undercooked omelette, the black colour scheme really accentuated the beauty of her crystal blue eyes.

The transformation was complete and her desire to look unique had now been realised. Little did she know, though, that very soon this desire to look different would come back to haunt her. Subtle signs of impending doom were already starting to show. She simply failed to recognise them.

The image-conscious 14-year-old Sugar fairy's attention was so focused on her beautiful wings and stunning gothic look that she remained totally oblivious to the fact that her body shape had changed ever so slightly. Majika was putting on weight; not a lot of weight to be fair, but weight nevertheless. Had she been more in tune with her body, she would have realised that there was far less bounce in her movements and that her feet were suddenly leaving the faintest of footprints in the clayey orange soil.

Regarding this minor weight gain, you are probably thinking to yourself, 'So what, big deal!' This is an understandable reaction given that to most creatures, slight weight fluctuation is no major cause for concern. But for Sugar fairies of Majika's age, this is extremely serious because Sugar fairy weight and size is not meant to change at all once they turn 13 (despite their habit of gorging themselves silly everyday on an abundance of sugary treats).

As a result of the weight gain, she was having trouble getting into her favourite black leotard. Its elasticised satin material cut painfully into her thighs and arms and gave her a mega wedgie. She screamed at her mother for deliberately shrinking it. She refused to change leotards, though. She was far too stubborn and pig-headed for that. She would rather be uncomfortable than let her mother win. Besides, the black leotard was an essential part of the overall gothic look. If she put on a colourful outfit instead, she would end up looking like some sort of ridiculous hybrid.

Fortunately, Lilypod was used to dealing with hormonal teenage fairies and ignored Majika's abusive barrage. She had been subjected to similar verbal onslaughts by Honeypop and Twinkledust for equally unjustified reasons. However, Lilypod was not used to looking out for teenage Sugar fairy weight gain, and hence, also failed to pick up on her daughter's sudden chubbiness. In fact, not a single Sugar fairy or Soul wizard who attended the race noticed Majika's slight weight gain.

Even her secret admirer, the young wizard Zoola, failed to notice this increase in her girth. He did notice her gothic transformation, though. He thought she looked really 'hot'. He loved the fact that she was so quirky and that she dared to be different. He wished that he possessed the inner courage to be more like her.

Wandina was already at the start line when Majika arrived for the race. She was flexing her wings and stretching her arms, looking ever so smug. Her bright pink leotard was smothered in a glistening display of exorbitantly expensive crystals and sequins.

'Excellent, that will make her just that little bit heavier than me!' thought Majika incorrectly. Although it would certainly help somewhat, Majika's natural weight gain, still made her the heavier of the two by a considerable margin.

Wandina's wings had been especially dyed for the occasion – pink on the outside and purple on the inside. In terms of Sugar fairy and Soul wizard tastes in fashion, she looked exceptional. The two girls could not have presented any more differently. Majika's unusual appearance caused quite a stir amongst the more conservative Flushfleans.

'Dressed in black again!' sighed Wandina with utmost contempt in her voice. 'How dreary! Can't your parents afford to give you a little bit of colour? And what's with the black hair, eyelashes, lips, and nails? You look worse than a Brandenberg witch! And what's that revolting smell? Yuck! Yuck! Yuck!'

The only part of Wandina's comments that really upset Majika was the bit about her parents' financial situation. Despite Wizend being a poorly paid Sugar Fruit picker and Lilypod being a stay-at-home mum who earned nothing, both would have happily gone without anything for themselves in order to give Majika and her two sisters anything their hearts desired.

On the other hand, Wandina's dad, Weezel, was a very wealthy business wizard and also held the prestigious post of Mayor in Flush Fleas. He was one of the most highly respected and admired wizards in the Flush Fleas community. His loyal citizens had no idea whatsoever that he was in fact a corrupt and self-serving rogue. You might say that they were far too trusting for their own good.

'You can buy colour, Wandina, but you can't buy class!' retorted Majika. Her response came way too late and there was no conviction in her voice. Wandina totally ignored Majika's comment and skipped off excitedly to thank her daddy for the magnificent rainbow that suddenly materialised out of nowhere and hung spectacularly above the race arena for everyone to see. Carved into its shimmering colours, in large capital letters, were the words, 'GO WANDINA'.

Weezel had secretly outsourced its construction to none other than Romulus Bowrain. Only Romulus had the expert level of rainbow-making skills required to make it last for more than half an hour and then gradually fade away. Whilst Bowrain's services did not come cheap, money was no object for Weezel when it came to pleasing his breathtakingly beautiful daughter.

'Her daddy may be able to buy her an expensive rainbow and fancy leotards, but he can't buy her a win!' thought Majika with a sprinkle of jealousy and a handful of satisfaction. This lifted her spirits somewhat and she even managed to show the slightest semblance of a smile.

Because both Sugar fairies had convincingly won all five of their previous races to get to this point, everyone present expected a closely contested race. The anticipation amongst the crowd of onlookers was electrifying.

The Sugar fairy final was such an important day on the Flush Fleas calendar that even the distinguished supreme Soul wizard, Dementia, had managed to take a break from his busy work schedule in order to be here. He was given the honour of being master of ceremonies for the day.

The ageing wizard's jade-green eyes stared at Majika and Wandina intently as he made sure that both were absolutely clear as to the course for this year's nap and the rules that applied. 'Please remember,' he stated in his deep baritone voice, 'this year, you are required to provide proof that you have reached every checkpoint. You will therefore need to ensure that you return to the finish line with a yellow Glem crystal from the tip of Glem Mountain, a triangular leaf from the One and Only tree by the River Flicker, a vial of Strobe glitter from the Forever Glittering cloud at the Valley of Forgiveness, and finally, drop a golden coin into the wishing well right here.' Dementia then cracked his wand and a wishing well suddenly appeared right in front of them.

Even Zoola was impressed with his uncle's handy work. He idolized the ageing Soul wizard and hoped to one day emulate his great work and contributions to the Flush Fleas community. Dementia handed both Sugar fairies a small silk pouch. Each pouch contained a vial for collecting the Strobe glitter and a golden coin for the wishing well. The start was now only moments away and you could cut the tension with a knife. Majika and Wandina anxiously hop-skipped their way towards the starting line.

'Are you both ready!' shouted Dementia. Having received two nods of acknowledgement, he struck downwards with his supreme wand, and a huge bang rung out. The race had started.

### CHAPTER 3

### FROTHER & HAIRY

Frother is a magnificent young Doolan dragon. Despite only being 15-years-old, he has already developed that distinctive lime-green marbled skin tone that so clearly distinguishes Doolan dragons from other types of dragons. You might say that he is an early bloomer.

His enormous silver nostrils look like heavy-duty exhaust pipes and his colossal head is softened by an extremely elegant, metre-high Mohawk of thick powder-blue hair. His lemon-yellow ears, carrot-orange lips, and psychedelic-purple eyes add the finishing touches. His skin is as hard and as smooth as fiberglass – except for his underbelly, which is as soft and as comfortable as a beanbag. Despite his incredibly powerful presence, he is in fact a very shy, gentle dragon who lacks self-confidence and speaks with a severe stutter.

Frother had sadly parted ways with his clan of Doolan dragons when he was only nine years of age. This was the age at which he contracted the rare and dreaded 'dragon throat' disease. It gave him what appeared to be a mild form of emphysema and permanently removed his ability to breathe out flames. All that he now breathed out was hot, steamy air. Because a Doolan dragon's entire worth is measured by the ferocity of its flames, he was seen as totally useless and placed at the very bottom of the pecking order.

How he had wished at the time that his parents had still been alive to protect and comfort him. Sadly, both had been killed a few years earlier in a well-executed surprise attack launched by King Mullimus – king of the Burlian dragon slayers – and five of his best warriors. At least both of his parents managed to kill a dragon slayer with well-timed slaps of their deadly tails before succumbing to the barrage of heated arrowheads that pierced through their soft underbellies like hot knives through butter.

They reportedly fell to the ground at almost exactly the same time. Frother's fatally wounded dad is said to have tried valiantly to pull himself towards his dying dragon wife but fell short by only a few metres. This sad image still haunts Frother. 'W-W-Why c-c-couldn't they j-j-j-just h-h-have had th-th-that one f-f-final embr-br-brace!'

Adult Doolan dragons are not very maternal by nature when it comes to looking after their sick, elderly, injured, or orphaned. Orphans are welcome to stay with the clan, but must learn to fend for themselves. Because Frother was unable to hunt without his flames, he had to change his diet to one of fruits, vegetables, berries, and roots. Having no flames and chewing on berries made him appear very effeminate in the eyes of many of the macho Doolan dragon boys.

Frother soon gained the unenviable nickname of 'Flameless Filly' amongst them. The word 'Filly' made reference to the female Modesta unicorns that the Burlian dragon slayers use to provide them with passage when hunting Doolan dragons. Being referred to as flameless and being compared to a female unicorn were two of the highest forms of insult imaginable in Doolan dragon culture.

This same group of Doolan dragons also enjoyed singeing Frother's beautiful blue Mohawk. Every time it grew back, they would burn it to its base again. They would tie him to one of the enormous fire-resistant Stone trees and then take turns aiming blowtorch-like flames at his Mohawk from a distance. Creating such a thin, continuous flame required a lot of skill and control. To put it in perspective, it is comparative to us humans trying to blow perfect rings of mist out of our mouths on freezing cold winter mornings.

Although Frother's skin was too tough to be seriously burned by any wayward flames, he still had to close his eyes the entire time and protect his delicate pink tummy. Whilst they all viewed this activity as being little more than boyish mischief and always tried their best to ensure that he never suffered any physical pain, the emotional pain and scarring cut much deeper than physical pain ever could have. The trauma of the constant abuse and taunts, and general lack of compassion, caused his severe stutter condition. Prior to these events, he spoke confidently and fluently.

To escape the daily abuse and ridicule that he suffered at the hands of the other Doolan dragons, Frother decided to take permanent refuge in a cave surrounded by heavy undergrowth on the west side of Glem Mountain. He realised at the time that moving to Flush Fleas territory was dangerous, but what were his options? To the east live the ferocious tribe of Burlian dragon slayers. To the north, live the evil and deadly Tishy gnomes, and to the south is Death desert, a graveyard for the abandoned elderly and dying.

But Flush Fleas was dangerous for Frother only because Doolan dragons are hated by the peace-loving Soul wizards and Sugar fairies who reside here. This is because these permanently ravenous dragons continually invade Flush Fleas in search of Sugar fairies. They find Sugar fairy meat to be tastier than any other source of protein at their disposal. The high sugar content makes the meat very sweet. They do not like the taste of Soul wizards, mind you, and avoid them like the plague. They find the taste of their synthetic skin to be about as repugnant as eating a pair of rubber galoshes.

Despite Frother having become a vegetarian since losing his flames, he would still have been treated like an enemy if spotted and he therefore never ventured further down than the foothills of Glem Mountain. He also only ever left his cave in the early hours of morning or late at night. Fortunately, his eyes were designed for both day and night vision.

The fairies and wizards of Flush Fleas lived in constant fear of these Doolan dragons and tried to use their strongest magic against them. However, even the most powerful wizards' spells had limited success. Doolan dragon skin is generally too strong and thick for the magic to penetrate deep enough inwards to inflict any serious damage. At best, their magic may disrupt a Doolan dragon temporarily. Furthermore, the stronger the magical spell, the more energy it sapped from its master's wand, often leaving their wands too tired and lethargic to function any further. Without their wands, Soul wizards and Sugar fairies were powerless to defend themselves and became extremely susceptible to counter attack.

Only supreme wands carved from the wood of the oldest and wisest of Shrewd trees are capable of destroying Doolan dragons. However none, other than Dementia, had the magical prowess required to control such a powerful wand. Unfortunately though, Dementia's services were in such high demand in the territories surrounding Flush Fleas that he was hardly ever home to protect his fellow wizards and fairies. As soon as he departed, the Doolan dragons would recommence their attacks.

Anyway, getting back to Frother... Since taking refuge on Glem Mountain, the shy and reclusive Doolan dragon had developed two really close friendships: one was with a Glutton spider named Hairy, and the other was with our beloved gothic Sugar fairy, Majika.

Glutton spiders are one of the largest species of arachnid known to exist in the greater universe. The eleven-year-old Hairy is no exception. His body looks almost identical to one of those enormous Halloween pumpkins in terms of terms of size, shape, and colour. His head is just a smaller version of his body, save for the eyes, ears, and mouth. Each of his 30 chunky limbs has a 20-centimetre span and is covered in thick, bright orange, prickly hairs. He has gentle hazel-brown eyes that exude warmth and goodwill. His ears are little more than button holes and are very poorly designed for hearing. His mouth is enormous and despite being toothless, is capable of producing the most welcoming of smiles. His flamingo-pink lips always wobble as he speaks – and he speaks with a lisp.

The lisp makes understanding what he is saying, quite difficult at times. He pronounces every single letter 'S' as 'Th'. So, for example, the word 'Sorrow' exits his mouth sounding like 'Thorrow', and 'Elastic' as 'Elathtic'. Up until recently, he used to also pronounce every single letter 'R' as 'W'. He now only pronounces 'Rs' as 'Ws' for about 30 percent of the words that exit his mouth. This inconsistency, though, can in itself be quite confusing! For instance, the word 'Hurry' exits his mouth sounding like 'Huwwy', whilst the word 'Arrange' exits sounding like 'Arrange' – I know, very weird!

Hairy became an orphan at age five, after his mother and all of his siblings were gobbled up by a flock of hunting Grogler birds whilst foraging for food at the base of Glem Mountain. The distraught and frightened young Glutton spider somehow managed to escape capture and had run for his life. After sprinting continuously for over four kilometres and making it three-quarters of the way up the mountain, he came upon what appeared to be an abandoned cave.

Apart from a variety of dried-out fruit and berry pips that were scattered around the floor of the cave, there was nothing else to suggest permanent habitation. He therefore had no idea at the time that it was home to Frother and that the friendly Doolan dragon was simply out collecting fruits and berries.

Hairy had then spent several hours urgently securing the entrance with an enormous invisible web. It was a mammoth task and left the emotionally spent Glutton spider feeling physically exhausted. When he was finally done, he crawled into a corner and wept himself to sleep.

Frother returned to his cave a few minutes later and walked straight through the invisible web. It was no match for his brute strength. The vibrations caused by Frother's footsteps immediately awoke Hairy. However, instead of trying to escape, Hairy stood dead-still and resigned himself to his fate. In a way, he was pleased that he was about to die. He had lost his mum and siblings and lacked the tools and knowledge to fend for himself. Living would simply be too difficult. Death would be put a definitive end to his misery.

However, he certainly did not wish to undergo a painful death. He had once accidentally burned five of his limbs in a fire and he still recalled how excruciatingly painful that had been. He had learned from his late mum that Doolan dragons shot ferocious flames. He would therefore need to somehow persuade the enormous Doolan dragon that stood before him not to use its flames.

Being a typical Glutton spider, Hairy still also managed to think about food at this time of extreme crisis. He hoped to also persuade Frother to allow him to eat one last handful of delicious Flusal flies before he died. Hairy loved the taste of these juicy flies and could think of no more fitting way to finish his short life.

'Pleathe don't cook me, Doolan dwagon!' cried Hairy in his trembling lisp voice. His massive flamingo-pink lips wobbled even more dramatically than usual. 'Pleathe jutht put me in your mouth and thwallow me whole... Uth Glutton thpiders tathte much better uncooked! I pwomise... Altho, would you mind terribly if I quickly ate one latht handful of Fluthul flies... and—'

'It-It-Its o-okay, Glu-Glu-Glutton sp-spi-spider!' interrupted Frother with a compassionate smile on his face. 'I a-a-am not going to b-b-burn y-y-you a-a-alive or e-e-at y-you whole! I—'

'Oh no!' cried Hairy hysterically, his imagination racing at a million miles an hour. 'If not that, then what? Pleathe don't tell me that you are going to wip off my 30 limbth one by one and then leave my thquirming body to dry out in the thun!... How cwuel you are!... How very cwuel you are!' Hairy was recalling an awful nightmare that he had recently experienced in which exactly this occurred.

'N-N-No!' laughed Frother. 'I-I-I—'

But before he could finish his sentence, the panic stricken Glutton spider interrupted him once again.

'Oh dear!' cried Hairy. 'How cwuel of you to laugh... You obviouthly have thomething worthe in mind... You're planning to wemove the thkin from my delicate back and then thcoop out my inthides like I'm thum thort of chunky thoup!... You are, aren't you!'

This thought was simply too much for Hairy to cope with and he fainted. Frother seized the opportunity and wrapped Hairy from head to toe in a few strands of the thick webbing that Hairy had produced to block the cave entrance. He then opened Hairy's mouth and used a large Polly fruit pip to temporarily gag the unconscious, pumpkin shaped Glutton spider. Hairy awoke with a huge fright, but could not speak or move. Frother now had a captive audience – so to speak!

'S-S-Sorry for re-re-restraining y-y-you like th-this!' smiled Frother sympathetically. 'B-B-But y-y-you left m-m-me no ch-ch-choice. I-I-I do n-n-not eat m-m-meat and h-h-have no in-in-interest in eat-eat-eating y-y-you.'

Hairy's bulging hazel eyes, returned to their normal size and his heart palpitations slowed from a sprint to a gallop.

'I-I-I am g-g-going to fr-fr-free you n-n-now. Y-y-you can l-l-leave if y-you w-w-want to. O-Or you c-c-can st-stay f-f-for a w-w-while and h-h-have a f-f-friendly ch-ch-chat.'

Hairy chose to stay for a chat and told Frother his very sorry tail. Frother felt a huge amount of sympathy for, and rapport with, the young orphan Glutton spider. He therefore kindly offered to take him in and teach him the ropes. Hairy gratefully accepted the offer.

Since that day, Frother has assumed the role of older brother. Six years have passed since their first meeting and the two of them are now inseparable. Having a stutterer and a lisper living under the same roof makes for interesting conversations.

Frother had only met Majika a few years ago. Their meeting was totally accidental and occurred as follows: Whilst Majika was busily excavating tiny fragments of black Zophobian crystal from a solid vein that she had discovered on a fragile rocky outcrop high up on Glem Mountain, the flimsy outcrop suddenly gave way and she came crashing down with it.

She hit the ground below well before her wings were able to create enough upwards thrust to assist her. She was knocked unconscious. As she awoke, she screamed with fear as Frother's huge face stared down at her from above. Her scream gave him such a fright, that he jumped backwards, smashed his head on a low-hanging stalactite, and fell unconscious on the ground.

Majika ran to the entrance of the cave and took flight. She flew straight into an invisible cobweb that was blocking the entrance. She was sprung backwards with enormous force and missiled perfectly into Frother's soft belly just as he was regaining consciousness and staggering to his feet. Although severely winded, he managed to grab hold of Majika.

'W-W-Wait!' he stuttered nervously, as Majika struggled to wriggle herself free from his enormous arms, which were now gripped around her slender waist like a powerful vice. It took all of his concentration to avoid accidentally crushing her like an empty aluminium can. He could feel her little heart pounding like a drum.

'P-P-Please d-d-don't w-w-worry li-li-little Su-Su-Sugar f-f-fairy!' he continued in the most kind-hearted and compassionate of tones. 'Y-Y-You have noth-nothing to f-f-fear... I m-m-mean y-y-you no h-h-harm... I am a v-v-very p-p-pathetic dra-dra-dragon. I c-c-cannot even cr-cr-create f-f-fire... And I d-d-don't e-e-eat m-m-meat... N-N-Not even a s-s-single f-f-fly... Y-Y-You can ask m-m-my spi-spi-spider fr-fr-friend H-H-Hairy over th-th-th-there!'

Majika gazed with absolute horror at the gigantic Glutton spider in the corner of the cave that, judging by its size, ate plenty of meat. Hairy nodded enthusiastically. 'It'th true!' he lisped. 'Fwother liveth on fruit and bewwies and leaveth. I alwayth beg him to tathte jutht a thingle Fluthal fly. But he refuthes every time. He hath no idea what he ith miththing out on!'

With that, Hairy reached up with one of his enormous limbs and grabbed a handful of Flusal flies that he had been hanging out to dry on a purpose-built web above his head. 'Would you like to twy a few?'

Majika fought back her repulsion and politely declined his generous offer. This discussion was so bizarre that she immediately started to feel at ease. It was clear that neither of these adorable creatures possessed even an ounce of malice. To emphasise this, Frother apologetically explained to Majika that the enormous invisible web that she had bounced off was designed to keep trespassers out, rather than to keep creatures trapped within. Hairy did capture a lot of insects in this web, but that was just an added bonus rather than its designed intention.

Having explained this, Frother pulled aside a section of the invisible webbing so that Majika was now free to leave of her own volition. He begged her to please keep their location secret and to bring them no future harm. She gave her word, but instead of making a hasty retreat, she stayed for the rest of the afternoon and got to know this odd couple a little bit better. As the sun started to set, she bid them farewell. Since that day, she frequently visited Frother and Hairy and has developed a very close bond with both of them.

### CHAPTER 4

### THE RACE

Both Majika and Wandina flapped their wings furiously and were soon over 100 metres up in the air. Majika found the ascent surprisingly tiring. It was like something was pulling her down. She had no idea that this was purely a result of her increased weight. By the time both Sugar fairies reached the tip of Glem Mountain, they were 500 metres into the air and had covered over 60 kilometres. They both swooped down on the neatly prepared pile of Glem crystals at exactly the same time. Wandina's eyes burned with fire as she shoulder-charged Majika out of the way and grabbed one of the bright yellow crystals. She then maliciously kicked the remaining crystals down the sides of the mountain. She laughed hysterically as she heard several loud splashes resonate from below. The remaining crystals were now sitting in various locations along the sandy beds of the fairly shallow, slow-moving, translucent blue stream that hugged its arms around the base of Glem Mountain and gently meandered its way through the centre of town.

'Happy fishing!' laughed Wandina sarcastically. 'And good luck trying to fly with wet wings!'

As Wandina flew off triumphantly, Majika started to cry. She felt totally helpless. If she returned to the finish line without a Glem crystal, she would be disqualified. If she dived into the stream to retrieve one, her wings would become soaked and this would make flying the rest of the race almost impossible. The crystals gleamed up at her through the water tantalisingly.

Her tears suddenly turned to joy as she felt hot steamy air on the back of her head and heard the familiar dry, stuttering, voice of Frother. His appearance at this particular time, on this particular day, could not have been more perfect. Majika dived into the stream below, grabbed one of the Glem crystals, and then hurriedly jumped back out. She was now soaking wet and freezing cold. She waved her wings furiously to get rid of the excess dripping water. Frother then blow-dried her efficiently and effectively, from head to toe. His enormous steaming nostrils were perfectly designed for this job. Within a matter of seconds, her wings were perfectly dry and ready for flight. She bade him farewell and set off after Wandina.

'D-D-Don't g-g-give up!' he smiled warmly. 'Y-Y-You c-c-can still w-w-win!'

With renewed enthusiasm and vigour, she headed for the One and Only tree by the River Flicker. It was easy to find because it was literally the one and only tree that grew alongside the River Flicker. No other trees could survive. Other trees' root systems found the water of the River Flicker far too sweet. I am told that the water tastes exactly like red cordial and contains twice as much sugar.

As Majika reached the tree, she saw Wandina flying off. She was quite surprised to see Wandina. She thought her rival would be much further ahead by now. So what had slowed her down? As she looked closely at a clump of the distinctive triangular shaped leaves directly above her, part of the answer became immediately clear. Wandina had wasted precious time carving nasty words into the flesh of four consecutive leaves, using her beautifully manicured nails as engraving tools

' _Majika' 'The' 'Loser' 'Witch'_

Wandina had also taken time out to gorge on the sugar from a few of its delicious bell-shaped fruits. The red pips and fleshy pulp lay on the ground below. She obviously thought that Majika had given up and that time was no longer of the essence. She obviously did not know Majika's true character. Anyone who knew Majika well would be acutely aware that she would never give up, no matter what obstacles she faced.

Majika snapped off a leaf with real intent and then flew off furiously in pursuit of Wandina. She headed towards the Forever Glittering cloud at the Valley of Forgiveness. She was finding flying today very difficult. Despite the weather conditions being perfect, she felt as if something was pulling her towards the ground. She felt... heavy?

The muscles that connected her wings to her shoulder blades were starting to burn. A little bit of pain was not going to slow her down, though. She was determined to win. She gritted her teeth and increased the work rate of her wings.

Meanwhile, Wandina had caught a glimpse of Majika only 500 metres away and was starting to panic. Why had Majika not given up? How could she fly so well with wet wings? As Wandina reached the base of the Glittering cloud, she looked back with trepidation and saw that Majika had closed the gap even further. The cloud produced regular flashes of light which made everything around it look quite surreal, almost as if things were happening in a jerky slow motion. Wandina quickly waved her vial through the cloud and it filled with Strobe glitter.

She hurriedly capped the lid and few of with haste. However, as she reached the end of the cloud, a really nasty idea entered her head. She suddenly ascended above the Glittering cloud and doubled back. She was now on top of it, directly above Majika, who was hovering at its base. At the very moment that Majika took out her vial, Wandina banged down furiously with both of her hands on the top of the cloud. An avalanche of Strobe glitter rained down on Majika. Its cumulative weight sent Majika plummeting downwards more than 50 metres. To the onlookers below, it appeared as if a shooting star was falling from the sky. Wandina laughed hysterically.

Majika shook her body, wriggled her head, and flapped her wings furiously in an attempt to rid herself of the glitter. She eventually won the battle. However, in doing so, she had exhausted a lot of energy and wasted a lot of time. Oh well, at least the vial of Strobe glitter was full!

All that remained now was the race back to the finish line. Whilst she had no doubt lost the race at this point, barring a miracle, she still wanted to finish. It was a matter of pride. Besides, she would also get to see Frother once again as she passed by Glem Mountain on her way back. By this point in time, the muscles in her shoulder blades were twitching uncontrollably and the pain was intense.

As Majika approached Glem Mountain, her face burst into a huge smile. Suspended helplessly in one of Hairy's massive, difficult to see, spider webs, was Wandina. She was screaming uncontrollably. As she saw Majika approach, she started begging Majika to help set her free. She had not seen the almost invisible web and had flown right into it. She promised to let Majika win the race. She just wanted to be free to return to her daddy and her life of plenty. She did not want to be on tonight's dinner menu!

Despite Wandina's nastiness, Majika took pity on her and helped to free her. The very moment Wandina was freed, she reneged on her promise and sprinted for the finish line. In her haste, she neglected to retrieve her pouch which was still clinging to the sticky webbing. Without her pouch, she would be automatically disqualified. Majika realised that Wandina had rushed off without her pouch but no longer felt any sympathy.

'Serves the nasty piece of work right!' she thought gleefully. Majika looked down at Frother and Hairy, who had emerged triumphantly from their cover in the dense shrub below. Hairy was perched comfortably on Frother's head.

'Thank you!' she yelled and blew them both a kiss as she flew off in hot pursuit of Wandina.

'Y-y-you're w-w-welcome!' smiled Frother and blew a kiss back. Hot steam filled the air in front of him and Hairy.

'Kick her thnobby arthe, gothic pwintheth!' shouted Hairy and waved all 20 of his limbs in the air encouragingly. 'Huwwy, huwwy, huwwy!'

As Wandina entered the arena, she could hear the crowd screaming. She looked back and Majika was at least 300 metres behind. The race was hers. She even had time to do a few celebratory hoops and loops. Her daddy was shouting uncontrollably. She saw the wishing well and reached for the golden coin in her pouch.

'My pouch!' she cried.

'It's still in the web!' smiled Majika as she flew past Wandina and took out her own golden coin. Wandina swooped on Majika and started to wrestle with her in mid air. The crowd was very unimpressed with Wandina's unfairy-like behaviour. They started chanting, 'Majika, Majika, Majika!'

Majika managed to break away from Wandina momentarily. This was just the opportunity that young Zoola had been anxiously waiting for. He waved his wand, said a quick series of chants and Wandina was suddenly falling to the muddied ground below like a heavy stone. He had used the 'Feathers to Lead' spell and the 'Land to Mud' spell. Her entry into the mud pool below took the form of a perfect belly flop.

Even Majika, who was now totally exhausted, managed a wry smile. She dropped her golden coin into the wishing well and it reacted with a dazzling display of fireworks. The race was over and she had won. She was the fastest Sugar fairy in Flush Fleas for this year. Exhausted and overcome with emotion, she collapsed into the arms of Zoola and happily accepted his warm embrace. The dishevelled Wandina, weighed down in gluggy orange mud, waddled ungracefully towards her daddy. When she arrived, Weezel wanted nothing to do with her.

That night, Majika replayed the race again and again in her mind whilst gorging on a bowl of Sugar Fruits. Despite being delighted to have won, she wondered why she felt so heavy in the air during the race. _Why, why, why?_ She got up and looked at her wings in the mirror again. Her wings looked perfect. So what could it be?

After taking a relaxing bath in the oil of a Bam Bam tree, she dried herself off and put on a brand new pair of Drudger silk pyjamas that her parents had purchased for her as a congratulatory gift. 'Great!' she thought, as she struggled to fit into them. 'Mum has obviously purchased the wrong size!' She checked the size tag and, to her surprise, it was, in fact, the correct size. The leotard had been tight on her earlier today, and now the pyjamas. She tried putting on an old pair of pyjamas and split the pants down the seam in the process. Panic set in as item after item failed to fit her properly. She removed all her clothing and scrutinised her body in the mirror. For the first time, she noticed the blatantly obvious. She was stacking on weight.

'How can this be!' she screamed in frustration. 'Sugar fairies of my age do not put on weight!'

Her parents were awoken by her scream and immediately entered her bedroom. They did not have to ask what the problem was. They could see for themselves. They were certain that their daughter had contracted the dreaded 'sugar metabolism' virus. It had been more than 300 years since the last recorded case. This virus affects fairies' abilities to efficiently break down the sugars they eat. Instead of converting the sugars to pure energy, most of it now converts to fat.

Little did any of them know that it was not a virus that was causing Majika's affliction, but rather, an evil spell! The spell would soon affect every single Sugar fairy in Flush Fleas. If word of Majika's condition started to circulate, it would create mass panic within the Flush Fleas community. Majika would definitely be forced to leave Flush Fleas immediately.

This assumed virus, which only attacks Sugar fairies, was known to be highly contagious. What value would there be in being a fairy if you were too heavy to fly? Your wings would become completely ornamental and of little more use than one of those large hand-held fans. If no longer useful, they would gradually disappear as the laws of evolution took hold. The added weight would even make hopping and skipping challenging.

After a restless night of soul searching, Majika arrived at a very tough, but essential decision. She would leave Flush Fleas until such time as her condition improved. She knew that there was a good chance that her condition may never improve. That would mean never again returning to the place that she loved; never seeing the family and friends that she loved; never seeing Flopsy again!

Having made this heartbreaking decision, she left in haste. She did not wake her parents or siblings because she knew that they would have tried to talk her into staying. She quickly composed a farewell glitter message for them and then, with great trepidation and sadness in her heart, she set off for the Land of the Lonely.

### CHAPTER 5

### MAYOR FLISHY & TRAIZON

Recently, the citizens of Flush Fleas had employed the assistance of the professional Burlian dragon slayers of the East to assist in culling the swelling number of Doolan dragons. Their rapidly increasing numbers posed a clear and present danger to the vulnerable Sugar fairy community upon which they snacked.

This strategy of engaging outside help was proving to be very successful, but also very costly. Whilst the number of Doolan dragon attacks on Sugar fairies had reduced considerably, unbeknown to his citizens, Mayor Weezel Flishy was siphoning the funds set aside to pay the Burlian dragon slayers for their services and was, instead, secretly paying them with the sacred jewels that gave Flush Fleas its energy.

He was using the stolen funds to pay back the exorbitant amount that he owed the disgraced travelling Leprechaun doctor, Lachlan Leechbottom, for the secret operation that he had illegally performed on Wandina a few months ago to extend the length of her wings. Weezel had left no rock unturned to ensure that his daughter would be victorious in all of her races. As it happens, Majika still ended up winning.

Although the initial amount owing to Lachlan was not exorbitant, the charlatan doctor had verbally offered Weezel 30-day payment terms and then secretly slipped an additional clause into the fine print of the written contract which required Weezel to pay an enormous, daily compounding interest rate, for every day that went by without receiving full payment of the account. By the time Weezel received the first reminder notice, the original amount had already increased tenfold.

As each successive sacred jewel was removed from the enormous glistening pile (hidden in the secret catacomb that ran under Flush Fleas town hall), and handed over to the Burlian dragon slayers, the dark purple grass, orange clayey soil, and lime-green skies became a tad less vibrant. Microscopic hairline cracks had also begun to appear in the rocky outcrops of Glem Mountain, and the clear waters of several rivers and streams had started to become a tinge murky. The branches of the various species of trees were looking a smidgen on the droopy side and the Rising flowers were slouching ever so slightly. Even the rainbow bridge had lost a bit of its bounce. At this point in time, though, the changes were so subtle that they went unnoticed.

In his own warped mind, Weezel justified his atrocious actions by reasoning that he would stop handing over sacred jewels well before the physical decline in Flush Fleas became too obvious or serious. He had no idea whatsoever, at this point in time, that a particularly sinister and evil Soul wizard, who had turned to the dark side in return for immortality and had lived in self-imposed exile for hundreds of years, had been vigilantly spying on Flush Fleas and was very aware of these subtle changes.

This awful creature's name is Treason and he takes on many forms. However, instead of using Bend rubber to create his form like all other Soul wizards, he instead, enters other creatures and possesses them. Possessing another creature is a flagrant violation of the Soul wizard Codes of Conduct. Such behaviour is seen as a fundamental violation of another creature's right to self-determination and is only permitted under exceptional circumstances: The reason for deciding to temporarily kidnap another creature's form needs to far outweigh the emotional stress caused to the creature by such an uninvited intrusion. Treason did not give a hoot as to whether or not any of his actions contravened any of the Soul wizard Codes of Conduct.

His favourite creature to possess is a large colourful bird called a Flexan. Flexions are the birds referred to earlier that like to snack on Drudger worms. These stealthy birds resemble oversized parrots. They are excellent flyers and are found in abundance circling the skies of Flush Fleas. It is their sheer weight of numbers and almost identical appearance that allows Traizon to remain so inconspicuous. Having worked out an ingenious way to suppress other Soul wizards from seeing his tainted soul through its feathery guise, he was able to survey the lands unchallenged.

He licked his thin Flexan lips with glee each day as he observed the gradual decline of Flush Fleas. He knew that this reduced energy made it vulnerable to attack from his dark magic. He would soon find out whether or not his 'Sugar Metabolism' spell had been strong enough to penetrate Flush Fleas compromised protective shield. If it had, the Sugar fairies would start to put on weight progressively with each passing day. And as they stacked on more and more body fat, they would lose their ability to fly, then to hop and skip, then to move – and would eventually explode!

Traizon's tainted soul would bathe in the misery and misfortune of these dying Sugar fairies. Such a wide-scale catastrophe would power his wicked soul for at least another hundred years.

### CHAPTER 6

### DEMENTIA & WILLOWOOD

Dementia realised only too well that he was becoming progressively more senile. Perhaps it was time for him to set aside his supreme Soul wizard wand and slip quietly into

retirement. He had to first _find_ his damn wand, though. It was the third time in two days that the rascally thing had gone missing. It was as if it had a mind of its own. He was sure he had placed it in the umbrella stand by his front door.

He was doing a lot of absent-minded and forgetful things lately. For instance, only the other day, he had spent several minutes painstakingly removing the difficult-to-peel skin from a deliciously sweet Mulishy fruit, only to then accidentally throw the perfectly peeled, octagonal-shaped fruit, instead of its bum-fluff-coated, emerald green peels, into his acid-filled bin. He then angrily crushed and tore at the peels – as if they were somehow responsible for his lapse in concentration.

Acid bins are commonly used in Flush Fleas. They break down the waste brilliantly and mean that a considerable amount of garbage can be thrown into them before they need emptying. They are far more practical than the conventional bins used on Earth. The acid is extracted from the moist sap of the Acerbicanter trees that grow wildly on Glem Mountain.

Despite constantly whingeing about the responsibilities that came with being a supreme Soul wizard, the sense of achievement that flowed from helping innocent creatures well and truly compensated for the associated pressures. Over the last 40 odd years, he had saved countless lives and at least a handful of entire species.

However, being the only supreme Soul wizard currently in existence meant that his workload was huge. With over 2000 planets known to exist in the ten dimensions that make up the Greater Universe, calls for assistance were constant. He often had to decide which one of several requests was most urgent. Sometimes this was very difficult to determine, and the parties who missed out inevitably bore grudges. So, although he had many grateful friends, he also had a few worrying enemies.

Dementia was now 250 years old and in the final quarter of his life. Although he could have taken on any form he desired, he chose to assume an outer appearance that was reflective of his age. He looked the spitting image of our biblical Moses – save for the electric-blue colour of his synthetic skin. This gave him more of an oversized Papa Smurf appearance.

He had long white hair that flowed down to his shoulders and a matching beard that ended roughly where his nonexistent belly button should have been. His eyes were jade green and pierced right through anyone who he decided to scrutinise. His posture was excellent and he looked very healthy. He always wore white Drudger silk robes and Mudwert rodent leather sandals.

Given that he was incapable of sweating – on account of his skin being synthetic and not having a single sweat gland – he could afford to have a very limited wardrobe. Each of his three Drudger silk robes had enormous pockets that extended all the way down to his knobbly knees. They were perfect for carrying all his favourite gizmos and gadgets. Despite Flush Fleas being very primitive and totally free of the advanced technology that was available on planets in other surrounding dimensions, Dementia loved anything with a liquid crystal display, lots of buttons, and colourful flashing lights. The more buttons and flashing lights there were, the more excited he got!

Whenever he was asked to visit these more progressive dimensions, he always found time in his busy schedule to also go shopping. Hidden under the floorboards and in the hollow wall cavities of his humble abode were a huge array of scientific marvels. If all had been on display, his house would have resembled one of NASA's sophisticated control rooms.

In case you are wondering, Dementia's bizarre choice of electric-blue skin tone had nothing to do with deficiencies in his eyesight. On the contrary, his synthetic corneas saw things more vividly and with more precision than even the legendary Great Horned Owls native to the Americas. To put things in perspective, Dementia was capable of reading the fine print on a standard broadsheet newspaper from over 50 metres away. Rather, the electric-blue allowed him to stand out in a crowd and also to express a bit of his eccentric personality. Those who failed to take him seriously because of his weird outer appearance, did so at their own peril.

Earlier today, whilst cooking himself lunch on an open fire, the absent-minded wizard managed to accidentally burn away his entire synthetic right arm, all the way to its rubbery elbow. Despite feeling no pain whatsoever because the rubber arm did not have a single nerve ending, he was still very frustrated with himself. The burning Bend rubber appendage and Drudger silk sleeve had created a nauseatingly putrid stench and the dripping Bend rubber had ruined his delicious stew. Even worse was the fact that he would have to now waste valuable time creating a new Bend rubber form. He used some of his most colourful expressions to sum up his frustration:

'You son of a bumple-headed, poison-toothed, Tishy gnome! Hairy-arsed, cowardly, Riboltian sadist! Mischievously roaming, stone-winged Carbanara!'

Dementia would have happily gone without his right arm for at least a few days, were it not for the important meeting that he needed to attend the next morning. He did not want to turn up looking like a semi-cooked one armed bandit. It was time to scrap this old form and create an identical new one. He hated this process as much as some kids hate taking a bath.

Most Soul wizards change their forms every three months. Dementia had already been using this particular form for over six months and would have kept it for even longer were it not for this unfortunate domestic accident. The signs of natural deterioration – such as scuff marks, rips and ruptures all over his rubber body – did not bother him in the slightest. Most of this normal corrosion was concealed from public view by his Drudger silk robes anyway. He had much better things to do with his limited downtime than create new forms just for the sake of vanity.

Begrudgingly, he started the tedious process of form renewal. First he retrieved an enormous blob of white Bend rubber from his underground cellar. He had created this pliable blob of rubber last summer by blending together hundreds of Bend rubber pods that he had painstakingly collected from several Bend trees.

These fascinating trees double over every time they feel any unusual vibrations in the air or on the ground. This instinctual hiding mechanism worked brilliantly for them millions of years ago when the wild purple grasses of Flush Fleas grew over two metres high and this allowed them to conceal themselves completely from potential enemies. However, these days, with the wild purple grasses of Flush Fleas growing less than 30 centimetres high, it provides them with less concealment than an elephant taking refuge behind a tub of butter. With their blooming heads touching the ground, it simply makes the Soul wizards' task of extracting the Bend rubber pods, which only grow on their highest branches, all the easier.

Dementia used the electric-blue juice of several Melancholy berries to dye the white Bend rubber blob to the desired hue. These tart-tasting berries grew wildly in his backyard. All other Soul wizards, with the exception of the evil Traizon, add a pink-orange dye derived from the petals of the Zumba plant to their white Bend rubber to create a skin tone very similar to that of humans.

Traizon favoured a dark red skin tone which he created using the blood of several leech-like Bleeding Bobbins. However, he rarely appeared in his Bend rubber form. As mentioned earlier, he preferred to allow his soul to enter the compliant Flexan birds. He had a favourite Flexan bird that he kept caged whenever its services were not required. This particular bird accepted its fate and never complained.

Once the electric-blue dye had dried, Dementia's soul exited his old form via its open mouth. As his soul exited, the old form went completely limp and slumped to the ground. His soul then set about creating the new form from the new rubber blob.

His soul recited a lengthy spell and then watched with utter boredom as his new shape and lines began to emerge from the blob. Even Michelangelo would have been impressed with the speed and precision of the sculpting. It took Dementia's magic less than ten minutes to create a new masterpiece. It was a carbon copy of the other one, save for his long white hair and beard.

His soul now entered the new, prostrate form and breathed life into it. It slowly rose from the floor and immediately started looking around for its wand. Having found it, the new Dementia then set about cutting away the deteriorated and burnt parts of his old form and rolling the perfectly fine parts into a ball. He took extra care to remove all the rubbery scalp skin and facial skin that had hair follicles attached and put them aside.

He now had what looked like a rubber underlay of white scalp hair and a rubber underlay of white facial hair. He then heated his scalp and face by putting his entire head into a cooking device that vaguely resembled an oven. Once his scalp and face were the consistency of semi-melted cheese, he carefully patted the rubber underlay scalp hair onto his scalp and the rubber underlay facial hair onto his face. The heat caused everything to fuse together perfectly.

Some of his Soul wizard friends considered his form-recycling behaviour to be a bit on the frugal side. In truth though, Dementia's form-recycling endeavours were nothing more than a practical time saver. He had no desire to go chasing after a Wobbit for more of its long white hair or going on any more Bend tree plucking expeditions than he needed to.

All Wobbits, including Majika's Flopsy, are only too happy to surrender some of their long white fur to Soul wizards, provided the Soul wizards are willing to first chase them down and then tickle their tummies. They love playing chase and are extremely ticklish. The Wobbits laugh and wriggle uncontrollably as the Soul wizards tickle their sensitive tummies with one hand and shear away at their thick white coats with the other.

Given that many Flush Fleas families have Wobbits as pets, it is not uncommon to see them enthusiastically playing tag with Soul wizard and Sugar fairy children, or lazing under the shade of the Sugar Fruit trees that dominate the front yards of almost every single Warpel wood or Zophobian crystal block house.

Dementia had only become a supreme Soul wizard about 40 years ago. The process involved intense scrutiny of his achievements over an extensive period of time. Every one of his notable acts of Soul wizard genius was recorded, verified and analysed against the achievements of other Soul wizards. 'The Powers that Be' had no hesitation in awarding him the post of supreme Soul wizard and presenting him with a supreme wand.

Over the years, he has developed an incredible repertoire of magical spells, each with its own unique vocal tones and pitches, body movements, and wand-waving techniques. It never ceased to amaze him how few wizards, witches or fairies truly understood what was required to make powerful magic. He blamed the modern education system for this. Magic schools these days, tended to focus only on the word construction of spells, and failed to appreciate the importance of wand strokes, vocal pitches, breathing techniques and body movements.

When Dementia is in full swing, his body dances wildly and contorts awkwardly, his wand spirals through the air, and a variety of strange noises spew from his mouth. Sometimes he shrieks like a banshee and other times he hoots like an owl. Occasionally, he does both.

Most troubling to Dementia currently was his continually worsening memory problems. Whilst misplacing his supreme wand somewhere in his well-protected home was fairly harmless, what if he was to lose his wand in a less-protected environment and it were to fall into evil hands? He was also gravely concerned that he may forget an important component of a spell and that such an omission would lead to dire consequences.

Dementia was only too aware of the disastrous consequences that had resulted from a complete muddle of words during the delivery of a complicated spell by the late Wizfiddle. Instead of this well-intentioned Soul wizard's spell restoring the ostrich-faced, baboon-bottomed, camel-toed, Carbanaras' ability to fly, it turned their limp wings into solid sheets of stone.

The mistake was so powerful that it modified the Carbanaras' wing creation genes permanently, resulting in all future generations also growing stone wings. Whilst many Carbanaras deliberately smash away their stone wings so as to remove the unnecessary extra load from their backs, others choose to endure the heavy weight for their entire lives – as a painful reminder of what the Soul wizards have done to them.

Many Carbanaras spend every waking moment trying to work out ways to hunt down and kill unsuspecting Soul wizards as an act of vengeance. They show as much cunning and determination as Wile E. Coyote shows in his attempts to destroy the Road Runner. However, just like the frustrated Coyote, all the Carbanara attempts to destroy Soul wizards have ended in great disappointment.

A female Carbanara named Skellem had been obsessively tracking Dementia for over twelve years now, and her every attempt to kill him had proved fruitless. She had made his extermination her lifelong ambition. Every failure only made her more determined to succeed.

On one particular occasion, she hauled her heavy frame and a full bucket of Acerbicanter acid into the high-rising branches of a particularly large Slep tree, which she knew to be Dementia's favourite spot for taking afternoon siestas. Every time she moved from one branch to the next, the bucket would jolt slightly and her hands would receive yet another painful splatter branding. She then angrily waited for three sleepless days before the ageing wizard finally decided to throw down a picnic blanket and doze off under its shaded branches.

Once he was fast asleep and snoring loudly, she screamed, 'Die Dementia!' and gleefully poured the entire bucket of Acerbicanter acid onto him from above. The acid ate through Dementia's rubber form as rapidly as it ate through the thick wooden branch upon which she was perched.

Despite hitting the ground extremely hard – and suffering a mild concussion, two broken legs, and bad chipping to both stone wings – the pain was concealed by the massive amount of morphine-like euphoria that pumped though her veins. She celebrated wildly. After all, she thought that she had finally been successful in her quest to destroy Dementia. She degradingly poked at what was left of his gooey, sizzling, molten rubber form with a stick and engraved the words, 'DON'T MESS WITH CARBANARAS' into its pliable surface.

She got the fright of her life moments later when Dementia's baritone voice suddenly reprimanded her sternly. 'That's not very nice!' it shouted. 'Now I have to create a new form!'

The confused and panic-stricken Carbanara hobbled away in excruciating agony as the euphoria wore off and the pain set in. The urgency of its departure increased as one of Dementia's unscathed arms suddenly picked up his supreme wand and started shooting painful sparks at the deflated creature's rumpy posterior.

As far as Skellem was concerned, she had lost the battle, but not the war. She had learnt a valuable lesson, though. You cannot kill a Soul wizard by destroying its body. 'So, how does one kill them?' she thought long and hard. 'Closer surveillance is the name of the game from here on in!' she thought aloud and began working on the first of many ridiculous 'camouflage' guises.

Despite this incident having occurred over two years ago, she was still no closer to solving the mystery. Although she always thought her various types of camouflage were ingenious, Dementia easily spotted her every time. He simply never let on because, from his perspective, it was like having a continuously changing, harmless shadow that liked to play hide and seek. He enjoyed seeing what ridiculous object she would turn up as next. On each occasion, she blended with her environment as well as a giraffe bouncing around on a pogo stick!

Dementia's realisation that his memory was fading plagued his mind as he prepared for his visit to the Elkwoodian territory, which was located about 1000 miles north of Flush Fleas. He had been urgently summoned by a very anxious Luticious Flyburger, King of the Golffbobs.

Only a day ago, an exhausted Golffbob messenger named Sallandrina had collapsed at Dementia's doorstep. She was too tired to even blurt out the important message that King Luticious had entrusted her with. She was severely dehydrated and the palms of her hands were very badly blistered.

Dementia had always found the Golffbobs to be strange creatures. Although they looked fairly similar to humans, he never understood why they chose to only walk on their stumpy hands. Consequently, their heads were always close to the ground and their large smelly feet were always up in the air. They looked so uncomfortable but could never be persuaded to try flipping things around. It was very difficult to make eye contact with them from a standing position. You had to kneel down in order to avoid straining your neck.

Sallandrina informed Dementia that their neighbours, the beloved, kind-hearted Elkwoodian elves, had recently gone stark-raving mad. All, with the exception of their King, Ding Dong, had left the protection of the great city walls and were now roaming the countryside menacingly, making crazy allegations and threats against anyone and everyone who approached them.

The Elkwoodian elves no longer even trusted each other. Husbands had separated from their wives, wives had separated from their children, and siblings had separated from one another. Even babies as young as twelve months were callously abandoned and left to fend for themselves.

'What threat could a twelve-month-old Elkwoodian elf baby pose to anyone? It cannot even think properly yet!' cried Sallandrina.

Fortunately, the Golffbobs had taken a lot of these younger orphans into their care. Yet even Elkwoodian children as young as three accused their new foster parents and siblings of trying to destroy them and continually tried to escape. This was despite the Golffbobs' best efforts to make them feel secure and welcome.

Dementia's heart raced as he listened to this horrendous account. He immediately knew that the Elkwoodian elves had been subjected to the dreaded 'Negativity Curse'. More disturbingly, it also meant that Traizon was active once again, for this curse was one of Traizon's signature spells. Only he possessed sufficient negative energy and evilness to conjure up such a nasty piece of magic.

This was very disturbing news indeed. The evil tyrant had not raised his head in more than 200 years. Many had even assumed that he was dead. Now, he was lurking again. He had obviously run out of evil energy and was trying to recharge his tainted soul by inflicting as much misery and harm on others as possible. He wondered what other surprises this tyrant may have up his sinful sleeves.

It was crucial that Dementia make a hasty visit to King Ding Dong. He needed to break the 'Negativity Curse' before the deranged Elkwoodian elves ended up killing each other and their Golffbob neighbours.

He remembered only too well the last time Traizon had cast this spell. Its unfortunate victims were the Vesporians, who became totally distrustful of one another. This eventually led to a horrendously gruesome civil war. After a month of killing, only one Vesporian remained. His name was Nolan. He lived out the remainder of his life in total isolation. He spent day and night continually working out ways to make his fortress more secure and placing hundreds of booby traps around the island. He did this even though he was now the island's sole inhabitant. Ironically, he eventually died after accidentally stepping onto one of his own booby traps. By this time, he was already an old man who had lived a sad and lonely existence. The accident finally put him out of his misery.

The five supreme Soul wizards who were around at the time had all tried desperately to break the spell. Despite their valiant, around-the-clock attempts, they all failed dismally. A few were so traumatised by their failure that they needed long term counselling. One wizard turned his back on magic forever.

Who was to say that Dementia would have any better luck this time around? A huge cloud of impending doom hung over him as he loaded his enormous pockets to the brim with useful goodies and hunted for his wand – which he had misplaced again! His search did not take long as he tripped over the wretched thing and went tumbling awkwardly to the ground. His left knee's rubbery surface now had its first scuff marks, which was like breaking in a new pair of shoes. Having cursed the wand aloud, he then requested its help.

Wand whose magic is mysterious and old

Take me past the River Bold

To the land of Elkwood castle

Just before the gates of marble

The gates of marble were the only entrance into King Ding Dong's massive Elkwoodian castle. The entire castle and its enormous grounds were enclosed by large protective walls that had been meticulously carved out of enormous boulders by skilled Elkwoodian stonemasons. If the gates of marble were closed, there was no other way in, unless you were prepared to risk scaling the 15-foot-high protective walls. Fortunately, there had been peace in the Elkwoodian territories for over 130 years now and, consequently, the marble gates were permanently open and no more than ornamental these days.

So, Dementia was rather peeved when he materialised in front of _closed_ marble gates! He tried to push them open, but they were securely locked. Directly below the bulky metal lock was a sign that read:

Nobody is welcome

Especially not my scheming wife and her loutish children

Dementia's mood became even darker when his wand magic failed to unlock the doors. The final straw came when, after painstakingly climbing the damn wall, he was prevented from starting his descent down the other side by an invisible shield that extended upwards a further 15 feet. He attacked the invisible shield with a series of powerful spells. It taunted him by shaking a few times, but remaining intact. Not yet defeated, Dementia did what any other respectable Soul wizard would do under the circumstances – he had a huge hussy fit. He screamed and yelled at the top of his lungs for King Ding Dong to let him in. Spittle flew from his mouth as he pounded down on the force field with his wand as if he was trying to crack open a stubborn nut.

This aggressive behaviour gained Ding Dong's attention and he came rushing out of his castle with his sword drawn and his eyes darting around like a madman. 'Did you not read the sign!' he shouted and verbally attacked Dementia with a barrage of colourful expletives. Ding Dong looked like a perfect mix between a pigmy and a blowfish, save for his pointy ears and bright green luminous hair that stood on end as if statically charged.

Dementia soon regained his composure and explained calmly that the Elkwoodians were under the grip of the 'Negativity Curse' and that he was here to help set them free.

Ding Dong laughed scornfully at Dementia.

'Nonsense! You are here to kill me. Everyone is in this life for themselves!'

As Dementia stared into Ding Dong's eyes, he saw nothing but burning rage. He realised that there was absolutely no point trying to rationalise with someone whose reason was hostage to such a powerful evil force; with someone who was totally submissive to their paranoid delusions.

'If you won't let me in peacefully, I will have to come in by force! For I am Dementia, the only living supreme Soul wizard! I have magic well beyond that which protects these gates and walls!'

Of course, Dementia was only bluffing. His attempts to enter the protective walls using magic had been totally fruitless. He suspected that the powerful magic protecting his entry was also the work of Traizon. For only a Soul wizard of Traizon's ilk would be capable of producing magic superior to his.

'Give it your best shot!' retorted Ding Dong smugly. 'My Lord is the most powerful sorcerer in the greater universe. His magic protects these walls. It does not allow anyone or anything to enter!' Dementia was very disturbed by what he had just heard, but tried his utmost not to show it. It confirmed that Traizon was definitely active and up to his old destructive mischief again.

As he pondered how else he may gain entry, he watched a leaf that had obviously detached itself from a tall tree behind the walls, gently float over the wall. It had passed right through the invisible shield.

'How could this be!' he thought to himself. And then it suddenly occurred to him: Ding Dong mentioned that the magic does not allow anyone or anything to enter. It said nothing about not allowing anyone or anything to exit.

Dementia waved his wand, shook his hips and whispered a few words in an Irish sounding brogue. Moments later, Ding Dong was floating through the air, following exactly the same path as the leaf had taken over the protective shield. Ding Dong waved his podgy arms and kicked his gangly legs furiously in a useless attempt to fight the magic that now brought him closer and closer to Dementia.

As Ding Dong landed, he swung upwards furiously with his sword and sliced Dementia's head flush off his shoulders. Dementia's head fell to the ground with a loud thud and bounced several times. 'Ouch!' shouted the head, its jade green eyes looking sternly at the elf King. 'That hurt!'

Ding Dong let out a scream of fear and ran for his life. Despite having the most atrocious, awkward, disjointed, running style, he was forced to negotiate the steep hill that led to the magnificent valley of tulip-like flowers down below, at full speed! His knees knocked together clumsily and his bum wiggled from side to side. About halfway down, he accidentally tripped over his free-flowing velvety red cape and went rolling head first all the way to the bottom. When he hurriedly surfaced, his luminous-green hair was now softened with a beautiful floral display.

By the time Dementia had picked up his head and reattached it to its neck – with a tube of strong bonding agent that he kept in his right pocket for such occasions – the fleeing king was now almost 200 metres in the clear.

Dementia did not have the best of running styles either. His rubberised feet always caused him to start trampolining all over the place. Whereas many of the younger Soul wizards can spring around with the grace and control of a gazelle when running at full speed, Dementia has as much control over his destiny once he starts to become airborne as a crash test dummy.

So, instead of attempting to chase Ding Dong, he relied on his wand magic to stop the Elkwoodian king in his own awkward tracks. He wriggled his wand, shouted a few words of gibberish, and a moment later Ding Dong stood dead still and completely catatonic.

As Dementia approached Ding Dong, he removed a special pair of ultraviolet spectacles from his left pocket and put them on. These spectacles allowed him to examine a specific type of aura that surrounds both animate and inanimate objects which have spells attached to them. The aura surrounding Ding Dong was pitch black.

Dementia had seen dark grey auras a few times before but never pitch black like this! It suggested that the spell that controlled Ding Dong was extremely powerful.

He left Ding Dong still frozen in his tracks and made his way across the beautiful valley of flowers. Their pollen-rich stamens filled the air with the most amazingly fragrant aroma. On account of his not having had a morsel to eat all morning, he decided to test whether they tasted as good as they smelled. Unfortunately, they were about as bland tasting as crushed chalk. 'Oh well!' he sighed. 'I'm sure the Golffbobs will feed me.'

As he moved further and further away from the castle wall, he suddenly stumbled upon a beautiful woodland of well spread-out Zuzel Nut trees. Because each tree was spaced about ten metres apart from the next, it allowed numerous wild berry bushes and miniature fruit trees to also flourish.

Having reached the enormous trunk of the first Zuzel Nut tree, he was suddenly pelted from the branches above by an avalanche of falling, coconut sized Zuzel nuts. They literally buried him, still standing upright, under an enormous mound. This avalanche of Zuzel nuts was caused by a sneaky female Elkwoodian elf who had been hiding behind a nearby tree.

She had used a very accurate strike with a stone from her slingshot to set the avalanche in motion. The stone connected with one of the uppermost Zuzel nuts and dislodged it. As it fell, it took all the other Zuzel nuts below it for the ride and they all began to fall like giant dominos.

Whilst Dementia slowly pushed his way through the pile of Zuzel nuts, the female Elkwoodian elf came charging towards him with her knife drawn, screaming the whole time at the top of her lungs. Her bright, statically charged, luminous-pink hair stood out like a lit flare against the dark brown of the tree trunks that she was traversing. Before she was able to get too close, Dementia did his thing and she now also stood frozen in her tracks. Dementia examined her aura and it was also pitch black.

As he made his way through the easy-to-negotiate maze of Zuzel Nut trees, he was given an extremely hostile reception from at least a dozen well-concealed Elkwoodian elves. His first step out of this woodland was also his first step into the official starting point of Golffbob territory.

Prior to the Elkwoodian elves having gone stark-raving mad, they had happily shared the spoils of the Zuzel Nut woodland with their Golffbob neighbours. This cluster of trees and bushes had always been viewed as being a neutral, equally owned buffer zone between the two lands. Now, the Elkwoodian elves viciously fought the Golffbobs and one another for its endless spoils.

Dementia received warm-hearted, enthusiastic welcomes from several Golffbobs who were out in the open, going about their daily chore of collecting wood, wild herbs, fruits, berries and Pomble nuts that grew all over the place. They dared not enter this wooded area anymore for its delicious Zuzel nuts and other rare varieties of fruits and berries.

Watching them pluck Rumple berries from low-to-the-ground bushes whilst all the time assuming the handstand position was something to behold. They would balance on one hand whilst plucking with the other. The combined strength and coordination required to do this beggared belief. Dementia watched in awe as handfuls of collected Rumple berries were then thrown upwards with precision – every last one landing right in the middle of the wicker baskets wedged between their staunch thighs.

Dementia couldn't contain his laughter after a mischievous teenage Golffbob boy named Boldicious snuck up on his best friend, Prudicious, and tickled her under her left armpit as she reached out with her right arm for another handful of these grape-sized berries. Prudicious' left arm, which was taking all of her body weight, buckled, and she went crashing head-first into the dirt. Boldicious ran for his life as she angrily chased after him. Dementia was amazed at how fast these creatures could run on their arms.

The adult Golffbobs were delighted to discover that Dementia had finally arrived. One of them ran off to notify their king of the great news. Luticious could advise his cooks to start preparing the feast.

Dementia was pleased to see Luticious again. The king's solid-gold, jewel-encrusted crown scraped against the wooden floorboards of the main hall, as he approached the ageing wizard. One of the rounded points accidentally wedged itself into one of the wide grooves between adjoining floorboards and the king was sent sprawling forwards onto his back.

'I hate it when that happens!' laughed Luticious and immediately reassumed his handstand position.

Because of their strange upside down position, a lot of the internal fittings were designed to only suit their unique needs. For instance, the tables have no legs and there are no chairs whatsoever.

Instead, they hang down by their legs from trapeze bars. How their swallowed food manages to make its way up to their tummies, when gravity is so strongly against them, is a real mystery!

The door handles are at the very bottom of the doors as are the light switches. I don't want to even attempt to explain how their toilets look and work. Let's just say that if you are ever planning a day trip to the Golffbobs, please remember to make sure that you arrive with an empty bladder and colon.

The food that night would have delighted even the most fussy of vegetarian palates. Tables overflowed with a wide variety of fruits, vegetables, nuts, and berries. Despite having to sit on the uncomfortable floor, Dementia thoroughly enjoyed the meal and greatly appreciated their hospitality.

The Elkwoodian orphans were also present at the feast. All had the trademark blowfish cheeks, pointy ears, gangly arms and knocked knees. The boys had statically charged luminous-green hair and the girls, statically charged luminous-pink hair. As he approached them after dinner, they all grimaced with pain as if the evil that enveloped them was having an allergic reaction to the goodness that enveloped Dementia. Their eyes burned with rage.

A young Elkwoodian elf boy, who was no older than nine and wore a red velvety cape similar to the one that Ding Dong was wearing, grabbed a fork and powerfully stabbed Dementia in the stomach. The little boy then cringed as Dementia calmly removed the fork and lifted up his robe to reveal four tiny puncture holes but not a stitch of blood. Instead of showing anger towards the boy, Dementia gently put his hand on the boy's forehead and chanted a blessing.

Evil force that traps this child

Take flight now and leave this crowd

Go back to your master's lair

Enter his head and burn his hair

Traizon got the fright of his life as the head of the Flexan bird that he was presently residing in, suddenly went up in flames. The smell of the burning feathers and flesh caused the Flexan bird to vomit all over his freshly cleaned bed linen. He instinctively used its Flexan wings to douse the flames. The horrendous damage to his favourite Flexan bird, paled into insignificance when compared with the damage to his ego. The war had begun and Dementia had drawn first blood, so to speak. He would be punished for this.

Traizon knew exactly how to do this. He grabbed hold of his dome-shaped crystal ball and clutched it tightly in the hooked claws of what remained of his favourite Flexan bird. As he stared intently into its translucent depths, the crystal ball started to glow bright red. The glow then exited the crystal ball and entered Traizon's Flexan bird eyes. He then commenced a chant:

Evil forces controlling the Elkwoodian elves

Kill these louts, before they kill themselves

Burn them from the outside in

Enjoy your feast of blistered skin

Dementia and the other Golffbobs tried desperately to douse the flames that suddenly engulfed every single Elkwoodian orphan. But nothing would work. Water simply evaporated under its heat, as did his attempts at magic. Several brave Golffbobs received first-degree burns to the soles of their naked feet as they valiantly tried to fight back the flames. It was all in vain though. It only took a few seconds for the orphans to be reduced to individual piles of ash. All except one were incinerated. The only survivor was the orphan Dementia had freed from Traizon's evil grasp moments earlier.

The shell-shocked wizard hugged this orphan boy tightly. He felt an overwhelming urge to cry but was unable to do so because he did not have any tear ducts. His soul felt as though it had been ripped into several pieces. His jade green eyes stared lifelessly ahead and his shoulders slumped forward like broken arrows.

As he slowly recovered from the initial shock, Dementia's emotional pain turned to anger. As he reflected on the magnitude of the atrocity that Traizon had just inflicted on these innocent orphans, his soul suddenly started to burn with an intensity that he had never experienced before. His rubberised body became so overheated that it started to bubble and blister. Uneven welts and craters appeared everywhere. His lifeless eyes suddenly looked out psychotically at the cruel world.

Then, without saying a single word, he turned and left the room with his newly adopted son, Willowood. As they made their way back towards Ding Dong's castle, Dementia bowed his head in shame as his eyes surveyed the thousands of small spot fires that peppered the valley. Each represented a dead, incinerated Elkwoodian elf.

In the exact spot where he had left the frozen King Ding Dong, a pile of ash could be seen. Poking through the ash was a large gold medallion about the size and shape of a tea saucer. Several of its chunky gold chain links could also be seen.

'Daddy!' cried Willowood as he rushed towards the ash with the medallion. 'My kind, brave daddy!' He clutched his deceased father's gold medallion to his chest and fell to his knees. Skilfully embossed into the centre of the medallion was the precise image of a heart – including the atriums, ventricles, aorta, arteries and veins.

As is Elkwoodian tradition, Willowood then cupped a handful of his dad's ashes and swallowed them dry. 'May your strength now reside within me – me, your loyal eldest son and new King of the Elkwoodian elves!'

Although swallowing ones deceased father's ashes may sound barbaric, this royal rite of passage has been a tradition amongst Elkwoodian elves for thousands of years. Deceased Elkwoodian kings were always cremated for this very purpose. It was believed that by consuming some of their ashes, the successor to the throne would gain some of the predecessor's courage and strength. Traizon's actions had simply expedited this process.

'Take me to my mother and siblings, and to the other citizens, please. They need to meet their new king!' cried Willowood.

'All but you are dead!' replied Dementia in a sympathetic, caring tone. 'You are the last of the Elkwoodian elves!'

'No!' screamed Willowood with unimaginable pain in his voice. 'What good is a king if he does not have anyone to lead?'

'I am really sorry!' replied Dementia.

'One day,' continued the broken hearted Willowood, 'I will avenge the deaths of my family and my people. I swear this on the ashes of my dad, and on the heart of the sacred Elkwoodian medallion!'

As Willowood massaged the image of the heart, it suddenly started to pulsate with the rhythmic fluidity of a fully functioning heart. Willowood explained to Dementia that this sacred gold medallion would keep pulsating until such time as the perpetrator of this genocide was killed. As the perpetrator came closer to or further away from the medallion, its pulse rate would increase or decrease accordingly. It was like having an inbuilt radar system.

Willowood said his farewells to the land of his birth and then they were off. Every time Dementia looked into the little boy's sad turquoise eyes, he felt an enormous wave of guilt tug at his soul. This was a good thing though. He deserved to be reminded of his ill judgment in provoking Traizon, and the dire consequences that followed, for the rest of his life.

For the first time in years, Willowood's thoughts returned to Violeena, the beautiful little Elkwoodian elf girl who had sadly gone missing more than four years ago whilst playing in the exquisite Zuzel Nut woodland. She had been presumed dead after a solid twelve months of continuous searching for her proved fruitless.

Her bones were never recovered, however, so it was plausible that she was still alive. Perhaps she had merely been kidnapped and was still being held captive in some other land. This possibility gave Willowood a glimmer of hope that if he could find her, he may be able to rebuild their tribe – like biblical Adam and Eve. Despite being a fairly long shot, it gave him something to cling to.

Upon arriving home, Dementia handed in his supreme wand to 'The Powers That Be' and gave up his title of supreme Soul wizard. He no longer felt worthy of such an important post. 'The Powers That Be' were devastated to be losing their star performer and begged him to reconsider. He was one of their finest supreme Soul wizards ever and the greater universe would be the worse for it. He remained resolute in his decision, though.

'Where to now, my boy? I mean, Your Majesty. Where to now?'

### CHAPTER 7

### SKED, FLUFFEL & HILDEGARD

The Riboltians are one of the nastiest known races to exist. They use their enormous size and brute strength to bully and intimidate anyone who crosses their path. They have huge egos and always put themselves first. They are also fiercely competitive. They gain an immense amount of sadistic pleasure from inflicting pain and misery on others.

Sked obviously has some sort of genetic abnormality because unlike his fellow Riboltians, he detests nastiness and violence. He is a shy 17-year-old, gentle giant, who hides behind a very thick beard of curly brown hair that almost covers his entire face. Piercing through the dense facial hair, like aquamarine gemstones, are two of the most compassionate eyes one could possibly imagine. The rest of his body is also covered in thick, curly brown hair, giving him a permed, Bigfoot-meets-Yeti appearance.

Prior to his exile from Riboltia, he enjoyed nothing more than smelling the multitude of colourful flowers that bloomed during springtime, or watching the gold leaves of the majestic Gold trees fade to silver and then bronze as autumn took hold. He also enjoyed collecting a broad array of the beautifully coloured gemstones that littered the banks of the River Boltian, and then polishing them using no more than spit and the massive friction that his hands were capable of producing.

He wondered why such an ugly race as his was rewarded with such a beautiful landscape. Unlike the rest of his breed, Sked gained no pleasure whatsoever from seeing how far one could kick a defenceless Coolabooh. Rather, he would be filled with great sadness and shame as he watched these innocent bundles of fur whistle through the air and come crashing down in agony. Why did the rest of his species feel the need to deliberately hurt and humiliate these cute, harmless little creatures? After all, Coolaboohs were no larger than a soccer ball and posed no danger whatsoever to their massive, ten-foot-tall Riboltian aggressors. They slept for most of the day and their diet consisted solely of a fast growing, noxious, prickly weed. If anything, they did the Riboltians a huge favour by keeping this weed under control.

He felt a self-loathing for not having the courage to stand up for these defenceless creatures. Why was he so weak? Feeling sorry for them did not assist them in any way. He did not even have the courage to stand up for himself. He should have tried to defend himself the time his older brother Squelcher glued him to a tabletop with the sap from a Melony tree. He did not even try to resist. He could vividly recall the cruel look of enjoyment on his brother's face as he painfully tried to free himself from its powerful bond. An hour later, he was free, but he had lost most of his thick curly back hair in the process. Back hair is seen as a sign of great beauty by Riboltian women. The more back hair you have, the more desirable you are as a potential mating partner.

Nor did he find it funny when his parents secretly replaced his hair shampoo with Frilly Fruit acid. He screamed out in pain as the acid burned through his substantial mop of curly hair and removed the first layer of epidermis from his tender scalp. His screams were music to his parents' ears. Instead of telling them that he was not happy about what they had done to him, he congratulated them on their ingenuity. He did not want to hurt their feelings.

He disliked the continuous one-upmanship as well. If one Riboltian kicked a Coolabooh six metres through the air, the next Riboltian would not stop until they had reached the seven- metre mark. The competitiveness was sickening. If one Riboltian added a room to his or her house, their neighbours, on each side, and across the road, would add an extra two rooms. As a result, Riboltians lived in massive, self indulgent houses, well beyond their requirements.

These houses would easily have competed with the largest houses in Hollywood and Belair. However, all that mattered to them was the size of the structures: the bigger, the better. Consequently, every last one of them resembled enormous, sterile, colourless concrete compounds. They were revolting eyesores, depressing the otherwise magnificent surrounds.

It was not the Riboltians who built these monstrosities, mind you. Oh no, they were far too important, not to mention lazy, to do this sort of work. They forced another poor creature, the Lentinas, to do all the grunt work.

Lentinas are tall, skeletally thin creatures. They have blue shimmering scales that cover their broad bean-like bodies from head to toe, and these scales protect them from the harsh sun. Despite looking fragile, they are in fact exceptionally strong and hard-working. Internally, they have a spine that resembles a tightly coiled, industrial-strength spring. It gives them the capacity to lift incredibly heavy loads. As a result of repetitive strain, many of the older Lentinas' springy spines have lost their tension. Consequently, it causes them to wobble forwards and backwards awkwardly as they walk.

Like the Coolaboohs, the Lentinas are also friendly and peace-loving by nature. They are also very fearful of the Riboltians. If the Lentinas work too slowly, the Riboltians whip them with flexible Hillelly canes dipped in Frilly Fruit acid. Even when the Lentinas work their hearts out, they receive an occasional whipping for no other reason than the Riboltians' thirst for sadistic pleasure.

The Lentinas do not receive any form of payment for their hard work. Instead, they are promised protection by their master from other Riboltians. Sked swore to himself that when he eventually moved out of his parents' home, he would live in a small, modest house, that he would build himself.

The other Riboltian boys continually teased Sked for being so effeminate. They could not understand why he favoured painting the landscape or collecting river stones over beating up a few Coolaboohs and Lentinas, or engaging in one of their all-important, "Who can pee the longest and farthest" competitions. He always vehemently refused to partake in any activities that were cruel or nasty. As a result, he was continually heckled and bullied. Their favourite taunt was, ' _Sked_ by name, _Scared_ by nature!'

The more persistent bullies loved pinning Sked down and then painting his hairy body from head to toe in the honey-like Bramble nectar of an insect called the Brambling Bunter. They made sure to work the Bramble nectar all the way down to his sensitive skin underneath. They would then release jar after jar of sweet-toothed Gnawler ants onto his body and allow them to enjoy the treat. They would laugh hysterically as the pain of wayward Gnawler bites would cause Sked's skin to feel as if it were on fire. The intense agony would also cause him to frantically run around, and this in turn, would cause severe chaffing to his groin region, as the sticky hairs knotted and tugged. The ringleader of this sadistic group, believe it or not, was Sked's youngest brother, Brootal. So much for brotherly love!

Whilst the docile, peace-loving Sked, wallowed in self pity, a 13-year-old Coolabooh named Flufiel was fighting his own internal demons. He dreamed of one day standing up to his Riboltian oppressors. He stared at himself in the mirror and tried to look as ferocious as possible. He puffed out his fluffy white chest and tried his best to reveal his tiny, razor sharp teeth. Although he now looked twice his normal size, he was still no bigger than his Earth cousin, the koala. His razor sharp teeth were unfortunately way too small to push past his luscious black lips. Furthermore, the enormous brown puppy-dog eyes that dominated his face betrayed him by only speaking of peace and tranquillity. Even his voice lacked any real conviction. He sounded like he was talking through lungs filled with helium and spoke so quickly that it was impossible to pick up every word. It was as if he was rapidly running out of oxygen and wanted to get in the last few words before he collapsed.

So intimidation tactics were not a viable option. He realised that if his race were to have any chance of successfully standing up to the Riboltians, it would need to be by sheer force of numbers. They outnumbered the Riboltians 100-to-one. Although their mouths were tiny, their razor sharp teeth packed a really nasty bite. If they all attacked at the same time, it would be as devastating as a pack of piranhas attacking.

He expressed these thoughts to his parents and siblings but they were horrified at such a suggestion. His dad sternly warned him to never speak of it again. 'You need to learn to accept your lot in life, Flufiel!' shouted his dad. 'At least you are alive and in one piece! Please, son, we worry about you and your wild imagination.'

His dad's response simply added fuel to the fire that burned within him. He did not want to simply exist. He wanted to enjoy life. He wanted to walk the streets of Riboltia without having to be continually vigilant and go scurrying for cover every time he spotted a Riboltian. He did not want to spend evening after evening soaking in freezing-cold ice baths to assist with the bruising he would come home with from being kicked around like a soccer ball.

With such intense conviction, it was only a matter of time before he would lose his cool and refuse to be bullied. That day arrived about two weeks later. A group of Riboltian teenagers caught him unawares and told him that they were going to use him for a game of Retchie. The game is similar to soccer, except there are no rules. As long as you get the Coolabooh into your opponent's goals, it counts as a goal. The means by which you achieve this is completely up to the players' imaginations.

Flufiel expressed his refusal to cooperate by running off as fast he could. As the adrenalin coursed through his tiny body, he felt a huge euphoric rush. So this is what it felt like to stand up for oneself. This is what it felt like to be free.

Unfortunately, his huge heart did not compensate for having tiny little legs with only two toes per foot. Coolaboohs are not designed for speed. Moments later, he succumbed to speed wobble and fell flat on his face. A large Riboltian teenager named Torteru scooped him up with one quick, fluid motion and put him in a sack. He then nonchalantly swung the sack containing Flufiel over one of his enormous shoulders.

Flufiel was not done with yet, though. He frantically bit at the sack. In doing so, he accidentally pierced Torteru's shoulder. Torteru screamed out in agony as a tiny trickle of blood stained his hairy left shoulder and back. The sharp, stinging pain caused him to lose his grip of the sack. It came crashing to the ground, and despite Flufiel being severely concussed, pure willpower drove him onwards. He wriggled his way out and started running for freedom once again.

He got no further than five metres this time as Torteru furiously smashed him over the head with a heavy wooden batten, known as a Stook. Flufiel awoke in agony as the rope tied around his tiny ankles bit painfully into his skin. As he looked around, he felt totally disorientated because everything was upside down. It took him a moment to realise that he was now suspended head-first from a thick branch of a huge Gold tree. The Riboltians laughed sadistically as they took turns whacking him with their Stooks. They were treating him like a piñata and literally knocking the stuffing out of him. 'Let's see who can split him open first!' chuckled Torteru.

Sked, who had been peacefully working on a sketch of the landscape using a charcoal-like stick, heard the screams of pain and the laughs of joy. 'Just keep doing what you are doing, Sked!' his inner voice implored. 'Don't get involved – this is not your fight!'

His enormous feet betrayed him and compelled him to follow the source of these sickening sounds. From the safety and cover of another enormous Gold tree only 100 metres from the atrocity, Sked watched helplessly. Tears rolled down his hairy face. They were literally beating this poor Coolabooh to death. At least its screaming had stopped; by then, Flufiel was unconscious and barely breathing.

'Let's finish him off by bathing him in a bucket of Frilly Fruit acid!' shouted Torteru. His delinquent companions thought it was a brilliant idea. With Flufiel hanging motionless, they lumbered off in search of a large enough bucket and a fruit-laden Frilly Fruit tree.

As soon as they were sufficiently far away, Sked ran up to Flufiel and tried as delicately as possible to untie the rope from his tiny ankles. They were now raw to the bone and very possibly dislocated. The little chap groaned in agony. Sked tried to reassure him that he meant him no harm. It made no difference really though. Flufiel was in no state to reply, let alone argue. Having successfully untied Flufiel, Sked then ran all the way home with Flufiel cupped safely in his arms like a baby. Sked was very conscious to hide every time any creature came into view. They made it home safely.

He hid Flufiel in one of the 15 underground rooms that his family had never used. Each of these rooms was dark, damp, and musty. They were also almost completely sound proof. They were built as a result of vanity and greed, rather than practicality. Although the room was barely habitable, it was at least a safe shelter for the time being until the storm blew over.

The storm never blew over, though. In fact, it soon turned into a full-scale hurricane. The Riboltians spent their entire days hunting for Flufiel. They turned his discovery and capture into a huge competition. Flufiel's parents and siblings were continually tortured in repeated attempts to extract information as to his whereabouts. They truly wished that they did know his whereabouts. They were extremely concerned about what had happened to him.

As each day passed, the Riboltians became more and more frustrated. Coolaboohs were indiscriminately tortured and taunted. Many of their modest houses were burnt to the ground. It took more than a month before things slowly started to simmer down. However, Sked knew that if Flufiel was to ever surface, he would be killed. So what was he to do?

Despite having made an excellent physical recovery, Flufiel was starting to show signs of severe depression. He could not live underground for much longer. The isolation was driving him crazy. He hardly ate and slept most of the time. When awake, he cried like a homesick baby. He missed his family desperately. His life was now confined to living in a dark, damp, underground cage, with almost no company whatsoever.

Sked tried to spend as much time with Flufiel as possible, but was also aware that if he spent too much time underground, it could cause suspicion and jeopardise both of their lives. Their interesting discussions on shared beliefs and philosophies had to be kept to a bare minimum. It was a shame really, because both were highly intelligent and could have happily chatted for hours on end, given the opportunity. The odd few minutes here and there that Sked could afford Flufiel was hardly sufficient.

As a result of stress, poor Flufiel's thick white fur was starting to fall out in clumps, exposing patch after patch of delicate pale-pink skin. It gave Sked his first real insight into just how tiny these creatures are when stripped down to their bare essentials. Underneath the fur lived a creature no larger than a possum!

Flufiel was unaware that he would soon be sharing his underground dwelling with a 16-year-old Lentina girl named Hildegard. Despite the slight age difference, they would get on very well, because they shared the same dream – a dream of freedom.

Hildegard resented having to toil all day building the Riboltians' enormous houses totally free of charge, simply to satisfy their huge egos, whilst she and her family of 14 were forced to share a one-bedroom hovel. Moving around her parents' house was like trying to negotiate your way around Grand Central Station during peak time. You had no body space whatsoever and continually knocked shoulders. Sleep time was even worse. It was like being in a can of sardines.

The thought of this inequality plagued her mind constantly. The one side of town had houses the size of palaces and their aggressive owners enjoyed the lives of kings, whilst other side of town lived in tiny, dilapidated shanties made from leftover metal scraps, and their passive owners lived like peasants. 'It's not right!' she shouted as she frantically shoved her way past her siblings, desperately trying to get to the single toilet that they all shared before anyone else beat her to the post.

Hildegard's voice is slow, dry, and twangy. It is really weird watching her speak because her mouth does not open even slightly when she speaks. It is like watching an expert ventriloquist, speaking in slow motion. The sound seems to amplify out of her ears and nostrils. Yet her mouth opens wide when she eats. I know, very weird!

One day, she had a sudden brain snap and aggressively asked a Riboltian named Angr why he wanted her to build him a 28th room for his house, given that Angr lived completely alone and was permanently bedridden with a terminal illness. Angr was outraged by Hildegard's insolence and reported it to his son. 'How dare she question me!' he yelled.

The next day, Hildegard was arrested, charged, and convicted of having committed the highest level of insolence. It will not surprise you to learn that the charge for most crimes under Riboltian law is death. The level of crime merely determines how painful and slow the death will be. There is no appeals process. Insolence carries with it the most painful death imaginable. The details are simply too gory to discuss.

Her death was scheduled for the next morning. Following the protocol that applied to any prisoner awaiting death, Hildegard was tied to the town pole with heavy chains, where she was exposed to public exhibition and ridicule. Any Riboltian citizens wanting to have a little bit of fun with the prisoner were encouraged to do so. The pole was outdoors and had no trees or buildings to buffer the swirling winds that tended to sweep through Riboltia late at night during this time of the year.

She would be guarded all evening by two massive Riboltian males. They were only there to protect her from escaping, not to protect her from the marauding crowds. Riboltians took turns throwing stones at Hildegard. Her scales were no match for the continual and brutal onslaught. She was beaten to a bloody pulp by the time the last of the spectators had left. Many of her scales were cracked beyond repair and their blue shimmer had turned a sticky red.

It was now about 2am. Hildegard was only just clinging to life. To make matters worse, a freezing cold wind had swept in, so she was now also feeling the effects of hypothermia. The two guards had fallen asleep next to her and were snoring loudly. Their warm blankets did little to mute their repulsive grunts. No prisoner had ever escaped before, so why would they possibly brave the cold and miss out on a good sleep?

Sked looked around carefully to make sure that nobody else was present. The guards were not going to stir any time soon. Satisfied that the coast was clear, he used massive bolt cutters to release Hildeguard from her heavy chains. The loud clang of breaking chains was completely masked by their vastly louder snores.

Sked hurriedly carried Hildegard back to his parents' house and the safety of Flufiel's underground room. Although her weight was not an issue for Sked, she was awkward to carry because of her height. As Sked ran, her flexible frame bounced around like a limp rag doll. She hardly stirred, though. Her eyes stared blankly ahead. She was clearly in a very serious state.

Flufiel was delighted to finally have some company and kept a bedside vigil. Hildegard was running a fever and he fought hard to keep her temperature down. He had little more than wet towels at his disposal. By about 4am, her temperature had dropped back to normal and she looked considerably better. Flufiel's selfless, tender care had brought her back from the brink. She desperately needed sleep, but other than that would make a full recovery. The sleep she now craved was stolen from her as Sked suddenly entered the room.

'We have to leave right now!' he whispered with real urgency in his voice.

### CHAPTER 8

### ALEX MCKENZIE

Despite only being 7am, the analogue dial on the enormous mercury-filled temperature gauge attached to Tidley Creek's historic town hall was already nudging its way past the 30-degree-centigrade mark. Even the building's magnificent bluestone exterior was becoming warm to the touch.

The inside of the McKenzie family's 150-year-old heritage-listed farmhouse was already starting to feel like an oversized sauna. Its wafer-thin weatherboard exterior and flat, corrugated iron roof, offered no resistance against this late December heatwave. The house had no insulation bats and the electric fans stood idle because the power supply had been cut off due to non-payment of the last quarter's electricity account. The McKenzies currently lacked the funds required to have it reconnected.

Times were heartbreakingly tough for all the sheep farmers who resided in this remote rural region of Melbourne, Australia. They were experiencing their fifth year of drought and the sheep paddocks were bone dry. Jonah McKenzie and his neighbours were now almost completely dependent on processed feed to prevent their enormous flocks of sheep from dying of starvation. And unfortunately, the price of these manufactured pellets was continually rising as demand outstripped supply.

On the brink of financial ruin, Jonah had recently made the tough decision to cut his ravenous flocks' daily food intake by half. It was a difficult but essential decision. It was either this or be forced to cull over 5000 of them.

You could not give sheep away in the current market because the cost of transporting even a thousand of them from Tidley Creek to the nearest drought-free location way exceeded their meager 18-dollar-per-head market price. Deprived of three meals a day, the sheep looked gaunt and expressed their displeasure at being hungry by bleating endlessly.

Despite the continuing heatwave and not a drop of moisture in the air for months, Jonah still remained optimistic that the drought would soon break. He was a deeply religious man and was certain that the God and Jesus he prayed to every morning and twice on Sundays would not allow this daily hell to continue for much longer.

When the drought did finally break, he would rather emerge with 10,000 emaciated sheep than only 5000 healthy-looking ones. It would be far less costly to re-fatten the existing flock than to have to replace each of the 5000. He knew that the price of sheep would suddenly rise overnight from the measly 18-dollars-per-head to their more realistic price of over 150-dollars-per-head.

It was the same story of hard times and tough decisions on all 30 of the enormous sheep stations that shared the Tidley Creek postcode. Some farmers shared Jonah's optimism and chose to go down the same path as him, whilst others were more pessimistic and saw no end in sight. They took a more pragmatic approach and culled thousands of their livestock. The repugnant smell of burning sheep flesh wafted in the air for days on end.

The farmers of Tidley Creek and surrounding rural communities all wore the heavy burden of this protracted drought on their weather-beaten faces. Even Jonah's powerful broad shoulders slumped forward ever so slightly and his akubra hat looked more creased than usual. Although he could no longer afford tobacco, the thin ivory stem of his favourite pipe still hung from the left-hand corner of his mouth like a child's security blanket.

Despite having slept completely naked and without a single sheet covering his long, gangly body, Jonah's son Alex still awoke in a sweat. His room had already started trapping the morning heat and was becoming rather stuffy. He always slept with his bedroom windows closed in December because any benefits gained by the cool overnight breeze were cancelled out by the severe mosquito mauling he would be subjected to. He did not wish to add mosquito bites to his mix of pimples and freckles.

The incessant sound of the millions of droning blowflies outside pierced through the flimsy single-glazed windowpanes and just added to his mounting irritation. The blow flies were attracted by the smorgasbord of sheep droppings that scattered the paddocks surrounding this 90-hectare farmstead. They would soon make their way in as the aroma of his mother Grace's award-winning continental breakfast started to simmer. Although money was extremely tight, Grace would not skimp on food. She would happily go without anything else in order to ensure that her family continued to have three hearty meals everyday.

Alex was not coping very well with puberty and it took next to nothing these days to send him over the edge. He felt awkward in his skin, and the continuous outbreak of pimples on his face was affecting his self-confidence. His family's deteriorating financial circumstances added feelings of anxiety to the mix.

'What is the point in taking a shower every day,' he shouted at Grace, 'when there are severe water restrictions and I will be hot and sweaty once again five minutes later anyway!'

Grace was short, stout and homely. She wore no makeup whatsoever and never even considered cutting or dying her lengthy Scottish red hair. Alex and his two younger sisters, Ruth and Leah, rarely saw their mum's naturally flowing red hair because every morning, before the sun rose, she hurriedly fashioned it into an enormous bun, and then headed straight for the kitchen to start cooking the sausages, bacon, and eggs, for her hungry brood. The bun would only be released at about 9pm, after she had cleaned the pots and pans by hand; unpacked the loads of laundry; finished knitting her quota of woolen socks, beanies, and jumpers to be sold by a fancy shop in the 'Big Smoke'; and tucked all three kids snugly into bed.

She always wore shapeless full-length dresses that were old, dilapidated, and severely stained from years of cooking. Her only unblemished dress was the pink frilly number that she wore to church every Sunday. Whilst Jonah got excited every time she slipped it on, her kids preferred the older dresses because the delicious smells of the years of cooking had permanently permeated their fraying fibres.

Grace was a very kind and understanding soul. Her personality was as warm and wholesome as her chunky vegetable soup. Like Jonah, she was also a law-abiding, God-fearing, devout Christian.

She completely ignored Alex's angry outburst and turned the stiff, rusted knob on the outdoor gas cylinder anticlockwise to begin heating the water. Whilst she appreciated that he was in a bad mood, she was not going to allow him to go to school smelling like a farm animal.

Having barely dried himself, Alex flung on his undoes and then frustratingly struggled his way into the polyester school shirt and its matching cotton shorts. He had outgrown both, but felt too guilty to ask for replacements because his dad had only just managed to scrape together the 90 dollars required to pay for his new footy gear. With no breathing space between his angry armpits and the synthetic polyester, ugly yellow sweat marks were already starting to appear on the underarms.

'What a perfect way to impress Hanna!' he snarled sarcastically into the full-length mirror that he had salvaged from a dumpster and crudely attached to the back of his bedroom door using thick wads of blue tack. Hanna Smith was his closest neighbour and also his walk-to-school partner. He had a huge crush on her, but dared not ask her out on a date for fear of being rejected. He genuinely believed that she was far too intelligent and attractive to be interested in an awkward, gangly, pimple-faced boy with average grades like him. He was completely wrong, though. She went weak at the knees every time she looked into his dreamy blue eyes and did not for one moment mistake his 'up in the clouds' personality for stupidity. She was dying for him to ask her out on a date.

Alex's tall, lanky frame was perfectly designed for Aussie Rules Football. Despite only being 13, he was already nudging past the six-foot mark. His gangly arms and legs were rippled with muscle. He was the town star when it came to footy.

Jonah happily drove Alex the 80 kilometres each way every Saturday morning so that his son could play junior league football against other clubs in the well-established Swoon Hill country district. He had stopped purchasing his weekly stash of Mac Barren pipe tobacco in order to finance the exorbitant cost of the petrol needed to get the two of them there and back each week.

His beloved 1974 Holden HJ One Tonner was built like a Sherman tank and was very thirsty on the petrol. Its fuel efficiency was further hampered by a severely pocked exhaust pipe that noisily scraped along the ground.

Fortunately, there were only dirt roads in this neck of the woods and it prevented the dragging exhaust pipe from creating any dangerous sparks. Like almost all the farm utility vehicles in this area, it would never have passed a test of roadworthiness. You had to travel at least 200 kilometres towards Melbourne's CBD before you encountered the first tar road, and even further to find a road safety inspector.

Jonah knew that Alex would only stand a chance of being discovered by one of the roaming Australian Footy League (AFL) scouts if he played in a well-established rural footy league like the Swoon Hill one. The footy scouts would never even consider visiting Tidley Creek, and why would they? It was way too sleepy and sheepy for their liking. The place had a total population of 97 conservative, God-fearing citizens, 300,000 bleating sheep, millions of well-fed, lethargic blowflies, and the sluggishly slow-flowing Tidley Creek from which it derived its name. Blink your eyes and you may miss its town centre when you drive by.

The post office, milk bar, general-utilities shop, and petrol station were all combined into one tiny orange coloured brick building. Outside, a single petrol pump stood idle most of the time, and the battered tin sign that adorned the building's facade hung by its last thread. It swung like a dangerous pendulum whenever the wind blew.

The only other buildings of note were: the historic bluestone town hall; the beloved tin-clad pub; the quaint, stain-glassed, white weatherboard church; and the small sandstone cottage that had been cleverly converted to form a combined Tidley Creek Primary and High school.

Were it not for the large cornerstone on the right front corner that read 'Tidley Creek School', one would never have guessed that it could possibly be a school. It looked way too small to accommodate all of the town's primary and high school kids. To be fair, though, not all of the local kids attended. Some of the wealthier families sent their children to private boarding schools. Still, it was extremely cramped inside. They were planning to build a larger school but put this on hold on account of so many families currently selling up and leaving the district.

There were no restaurants, no cinemas, and the local footy field was little more than a dried out mud pan. The pub's home-brewed beer was as bitter as sheep urine and as warm as fresh sheep 'do do'. Please excuse my crudity, but the locals describe it this way. Mind you, it has never stopped them from drinking it by the gallon.

The Swoon Hill footy scouts all told Jonah that they believed Alex had the potential to one day be a superstar. He just needed to put some meat on his bones and grow out of his awkwardness. One scout described Alex's current running style as resembling that of a giraffe with a sore knee.

Alex ruffled his hand through his thick mop of ginger hair as he frustratingly examined each pussy pimple on his face. It seemed that the more he squeezed them, the more they grew – like a vindictive enemy. Had he not suffered enough by being born with red hair and freckles? Why did he also have to have pimples? He wanted to scream, 'God is cruel!' but would never dare to utter such blasphemy aloud. He would be shovelling sheep 'doo doo' for an entire week if such profanity were to ever bypass his brain and exit his mouth.

He often wished he was more like his mother. She was always optimistic about everything. Nothing seemed to dampen her spirit; not even the severe drought that threatened their livelihood. Little did he know that she cried quite a lot these days, whenever nobody was around to see or hear her. When others were around, she would run to the outdoor Hills hoist and hide her teary face behind the mass of clothing that was always hanging down.

It broke Grace's heart that Alex had to struggle into an undersized school uniform, that Ruth and Leah did not have any colourful hair accessories and had to tie their hair into ponytails using ugly postal service issue elastic bands, and that Jonah could no longer afford pipe tobacco. Whilst she appreciated that smoking was a filthy habit, it was Jonah's only foible and luxury in life.

Grace was the glue that bound the family together. If she lost her grip, the entire family would collapse like a pack of cards. She had to show strength at all times. Later today, she would visit the Salvation Amy shop in nearby Waterville and scrounge around for a larger white shirt and grey pair of shorts that closely resembled those of Alex's current school uniform. She could easily remove the embroidered school emblem from the old uniform and sew it onto the new one. She would also see if she could find a nice alice-band or colourful scrunchie for each of her girls. Despite Jonah insisting that she not purchase him anything for his upcoming 40th birthday, she would also check the post office to see whether the parcel containing the 500 grams of Mac Barrens finest blend had arrived. It was not every day, after all, that one's husband turned 40.

Alex was so caught up in his thoughts and pimple squeezing frenzy that he completely failed to notice Grace creeping up behind him.

'Stop that!' she shouted softly and pulled his hands away from his now bleeding face. 'You need those pimples. They hide your freckles!'

Having made her son laugh and removed some of his grumpiness in the process, she returned to the kitchen and completed the finishing touches to the hearty breakfast that she had prepared for the family. As Alex wolfed down his breakfast, his mind returned to the issue of whether Hanna Smith could ever fall for him. He wished that his parents could afford to buy him a decent pimple cream and dreamed of dying his ginger hair brown, blonde or black – anything but ginger. It was a shame that Alex had such a degrading image of himself. In reality, he was very good-looking in a manly sort of way. He had a sharp, chiselled nose, a square chin, high cheekbones, and dreamy blue eyes that make little girls' hearts flutter. His hair was, in fact, a blonde-ginger blend and ended in curls.

As mentioned earlier, Hanna thought he was gorgeous just the way he was and was absolutely dying for him to ask her out on a date. She continually gave him obvious hints, but he was totally blind to them. On the one and only occasion that she summoned the courage to try and hold his hand whilst walking to school, he shook his hand free of the grip with the desperation of a floundering fish and apologised profusely for accidentally touching her delicate hand. She felt like screaming out, 'It was me who touched you, you gorgeous numbskull!' but felt too embarrassed to do so.

As if reading his mind, his youngest sister, Leah, suddenly sang out:

Alex and Hanna sitting in a tree

K. I. S. S. I. N. G.

The precocious eight-year-old got no further with the jingle because Alex placed one of his enormous hands firmly over her mouth. Her face turned from joy to fear as she struggled to breathe through her snottier-up nose.

By the time Jonah managed to release Alex's vice-like grip, Leah was blue in the face and crying hysterically. Jonah stroked Leah's shiny auburn hair and kissed away her tears. He then gave her an enormous bear hug.

Alex could not remember when last his dad had given him a kiss or a hug. He knew that his dad loved all of his children equally, though. He just had different ways of expressing this love when it came to boys. A pat on the back or a quick ruffle of the hair was all Alex ever got. He could do without the kiss, but would have loved a hug from his old man every once in a while.

As he left the house and headed towards Hanna's, he took in the aroma of the banana cake and fresh bread that his mother was cooking. They would be ready by the time he got home. He picked Hanna up and they started the five kilometre walk to school. Although both of them had bicycles – Alex a rusty green Chopper and Hanna a sparkling pink Malvern Star – they chose to walk because they enjoyed each other's company so much and wanted the time together to last as long as possible.

Once in class, Alex drifted into his dream world as Mr Kearney babbled on about fractions and square roots. Numbers did not interest him in the slightest. They were cold, rigid and impersonal. He preferred studying people. He loved wondering what everyone was thinking or what it would be like to be someone else for a day. He was a budding armchair psychologist and had become an expert in reading body language. He enjoyed trying to predict what a person was about to say, though this did not help him overcome his blindness to Hanna's interest in him. He brought a completely new meaning to the saying, 'love is blind'.

His daydream drifted from receiving a hug from his dad, to playing for his beloved Carlton Blues football club, then to playing with his sheepdog Jessie, smashing coke bottles with his slingshot, bouncing pebbles off Tidley Creek, and kissing Hanna under 'The Love Tree'.

His kiss came to an abrupt end as the loud noise of Mr Kearney's bamboo cane smashing down on his desk scared the living daylights out of him.

Alex let out an effeminate yelp, to the delight of his classmates. Hanna smiled at him reassuringly. Of course, he misinterpreted the smile to be one of scorn and pity.

When he arrived home from school, he hurriedly scoffed down a piece of his mother's award-winning banana cake and then went outside to play fetch with Jessie. This was her favourite game and the absolute highlight of her day. The tennis ball that they had been using for the last two months was bald and punctured and smelt of doggy breath. Nevertheless, the fact that the ball no longer bounced and hardly even rolled failed to dampen her enthusiasm.

Alex always felt guilty ending the game. Jessie would jump up at him repeatedly in an attempt to block his path and keep him from leaving. She was a bundle of frenetic energy and would have happily kept playing fetch for hours on end. Unfortunately, he was in a bit of a rush today and could only spare her a paltry half hour. This was because he had arranged to meet his mates Jonny and Justin at their special meeting place at 3:30pm.

It was already close on 3:15pm when he finally set off. He sprinted past the sheep paddocks and crossed the main dirt road. He then zigzagged his way through the evenly spaced plantation of Eucalyptus trees and finally arrived at the extremely dense wall of Tea tree scrub. He then followed the winding path that snaked its way around the base of the 60-metre-high hill that stood out like a giant bump against its totally flat surrounds. Although the hill was not that high, it was extremely wide. To do a full circle around the base required you to cover a distance of over a kilometre.

As soon as Alex reached the other side of the hill's base, he heard the gentle trickling sound of the slow-flowing freshwater creek. He removed the dead twigs and branches that concealed their secret path through the dense Tea trees and down to the creek's stony bed. Sixteen slippery steps later, he had arrived at their secret spot. It was only a few minutes after 3:30pm. He had made excellent time.

The water looked fairly still today and the sky was as blue as can be. It was a perfect day for one of their fiercely contested pebble bouncing competitions. The record of six consecutive bounces from one throw could well be under threat today. Jonny claimed to have once achieved seven bounces. However, the record only counted if the other two were there to see it. It had to be official!

Jonny and Justin had arrived a few minutes earlier and had already managed to salvage the best of the pebbles. The most desirable pebbles were the ones with pancake-flat surfaces, which fitted nicely between your thumb and first finger. Both of their buckets were almost filled to the brim with prime examples.

'Greedy buggers!' shouted Alex as he scoured the ground for any potential humdingers that may have been overlooked.

'We've left you all the crappy ones!' laughed Justin.

'That's OK!' responded Alex. 'I have a stronger throwing arm than both of your girly throwing arms combined! I could even make a _brick_ bounce seven times if I wanted to!'

This statement was so ridiculous and farfetched that they all started laughing. Despite perfect conditions, none managed to get to that elusive seventh bounce. Alex and Justin both achieved a respectable six bounces, though.

After about an hour, Jonny and Justin decided to call it quits. Alex stayed on for a short while longer. His competitive spirit compelled him to keep trying. He got so caught up in this challenge that he completely lost track of time. As he swatted a blowfly off his nose with his left hand, he caught sight of his watch and freaked out. It was already 4:54pm. He was due home at 5pm sharp and the sprint home would take at least ten minutes. The only option was to take a short cut over the hill. This would involve tackling a steep incline, followed by a steep decline, whilst trampling through thick vegetation and numerous jagged rocks.

By the time he reached the top, his face glistened with sweat and he was totally puffed. He had almost twisted his ankle when his right foot became awkwardly wedged between two rocks. That would have been an utter disaster because the area was totally isolated.

As he hurriedly made his way down the steep decline, he lost his footing on a slippery rock and went sliding downwards uncontrollably on his backside. When he finally surfaced, his eyes were greeted by the most beautiful cave. It had remained totally camouflaged for all these years by the thick indigenous scrub that grew only metres from its entrance. The entrance to the cave was also partially blocked by huge peppermint plants. Their amazing aroma filled the air.

Who knows for how long this cave had remained hidden? Perhaps hundreds of years, possibly even thousands of years! His imagination swum wildly. How he longed to take a quick peek inside! But there was no time now; it would have to wait until tomorrow. Little did he know just how worthwhile that wait would be!

### CHAPTER 9

### LIFE AFTER SETH

'This is Late Night Live with Speldig Slive!' echoed the voiceover. 'Streaming live to over 50,000 different species, on over 1000 planets, in all ten dimensions... A special welcome to our latest subscribers – the Valerians, the Smoonians, and the Helbrons – we hope you enjoy the show! Without further ado, here's your "host with the most", the one and only SPELDIG SLIVE!'

The seated audience erupted with huge applause. Speldig came running into the studio, his 20 table-tennis-bat hands offering quick high fives to many of the front row audience members as he brushed past them. He took his seat behind a snazzy-looking desk that doubled as an interactive advertising billboard. Speldig signalled for the obligatory drum roll. When this was complete and the audience settled, he spoke.

'Welcome one and all!' he smiled. 'With us in the studio this evening, we have Mullum Peltzing and his latest _Travel Guide to_ _Dimension IV_.' The audience applauded. 'Thank you, thank you. We also have Flugal Zem and his latest, _Domestic Chores Android_ , the long awaited _DCA III_ '. The applause continued. 'Thank you, thank you! But first, please make welcome to the stage, the one we have all been waiting to hear from, the last survivor of the Sethonian species – and eligible bachelor, if you don't mind crossbreeding – Neuro Synapse!'

Neuro was wheeled into the studio in a fully enclosed, triple-glazed glass capsule that resembled the Popemobile. He assumed that they had put him in this contraption to protect him from being mobbed by the adoring audience. He was sure that there would be several groupies wanting to be with him. After all, he was the one and only Sethonian left. He was a limited edition, of Rolls Royce quality, one of a kind; he was an outright celebrity – dare he say, a star!

In truth, Speldig had been briefed on Neuro's repulsive smell well in advance, and had refused to do the interview unless he was suitably protected from the moving, breathing stenchball. Even though the glass casing was ten centimetres thick and its manufacturers guaranteed its ability to mask even the most potent of pongs, some of Neuro's overpowering body odour still managed to penetrate its way through. It put Speldig in a decidedly bad mood.

'Welcome Neuro!' he smiled fakely.

'Thank you Speldig!' smiled Neuro like a Cheshire cat. He waved his hands furiously at the audience and bathed in the glory. 'Great to be here! Hello audience! Watch this...' Neuro couldn't help himself. He had to show off by hovering his way to the top of his glass enclosure. 'You see Speldig, I'm whipping evolutions arse!'

'Hmm, yes...' replied Speldig rather coldly. 'Now tell me something Neuro, how are you doing?'

This specific question was to prove to be very costly for all parties involved. Neuro spent the rest of the time allocated to him giving a blow by blow account of how he was doing. It was like listening to an elderly person ramble on about their ailing health and numerous mystery illnesses; like listening to a detailed lecture on the anatomy of a Sethonian. The audience were bored to tears. Many stood up and left.

Speldig tried desperately to interrupt Neuro and change the direction of the conversation towards his 'great escape' from Seth _._ Neuro refused to be interrupted, however, and kept contemptuously waving Speldig away. It was his time to shine, not Speldig's. By the time Neuro had finished describing his painful bowel movements and the probable cause of his green acidy urine, his slot was over and he found himself being unceremoniously wheeled out.

'Wait...!' he screamed, flailing his arms as his enormous head smashed against the sides of the glass enclosure. 'I haven't even got to my kidneys yet!'

'Well done, dome head!' screamed Speldig. 'You've managed to clear my entire audience!'

'Is that a record?' asked Neuro, smirking.

Having had all of his other scheduled talk show appearances cancelled as a result of this fiasco, Neuro gradually faded into obscurity. There were no book or movie offers forthcoming. And his journal was about as useless as a telephone directory. His story had lost its appeal and the Sethonians were no longer a topic of interest. They were has-beens. The bizarre sudden doubling of the Pludian population overnight was now the story of the hour.

From this point onwards, Neuro drifted fairly aimlessly from planet to planet and dimension to dimension in his sub-atomic particle thrust spacecraft. Every place he visited was considerably less sophisticated than Seth had been. It was like stepping way back in time. The creatures that he met along the way were all complete morons. He was convinced that there was more intelligence in one of his Sethonian brain cells than any of them had in their entire pathetic excuses for brains.

'This makes me at least 1,700,000,000 times smarter than any of them!' he thought proudly to himself and gently massaged his lily-white scalp.

He earned a very decent living wherever he went by creating useful new technological gadgets for all of these vastly less intelligent, primitive species. He put vacuum-tight patents in place for all of his inventions so as to ensure that future royalties flowed his way.

He could not believe that the Smoonians had been using Plasma and LCD technology all this time. This archaic medium had been replaced by CWC (colour wave capture) technology on Seth over 20 years ago. They, in turn, could not believe how bad Neuro ponged!

'Why is a creature so capable of making new discoveries, so incapable of discovering soap?' laughed King Smoonelli wryly. It had taken an entire team of his best royal maids and servants several hours to clean, disinfect, and deodorise his royal chamber after Neuro's last visit. 'Next time he comes, I shall conduct the meetings outdoors. Do you think he would take offence if I wore an oxygen mask over my crown?'

Neuro was also stunned that the Floombees were still using solar panels instead of hydro-magnetic panels. His brilliant hydro-magnetic modifications to their existing power grids more than trebled their energy capture capabilities instantaneously.

He achieved this feat of genius on only his second visit to Floor. He thought it quite odd that on this occasion, their king insisted that the two of them sit on opposite ends of the enormous 70-seat table, and that they have a blaring loud, overly powerful industrial-sized fan going at full speed for the entire meeting despite it being the middle of winter.

The fan was pointing in Neuro's direction and twice lifted his scrawny frame from its seat and plastered him flush against the back wall. It also turned communication into an all-out screaming match and made reading and exchanging contracts exceedingly difficult. Pages kept flying all over the place.

Neuro's reputation as the 'Smelly Genius' was spreading like wildfire. His services were soon in high demand. Sales of fans, oxygen masks, and disinfectant products always surged days before his arrival.

Whilst the lavish praise that Neuro was receiving for his intellect was nice and his growing wealth allowed him to live well, he still felt hollow inside. He felt like he was destined for a greater purpose in life than being a glorified inventor. He dreamed of one day ruling the whole greater galaxy.

His bourgeoning wealth had allowed him to recently purchase the entire burnt-out mini-planet of Silcon and refurbish it. Its previous owners, the Glastonians, could not believe their luck and could not exchange contracts quick enough. They had abandoned it over 500 years ago and their Treasury Department no longer even listed it as an asset on their balance sheet.

Neuro employed the best builders that money could buy to create a 50-storey-high structure that closely resembled an air traffic control tower. Whilst many new home owners also pay attention to external landscaping, Neuro completely ignored this and rather spent his spare time turning the inside of the very top storey into a technological wonderland. This was the only storey of the tower that he occupied. Scattered within and around the structure were hundreds of highly sophisticated and sensitive gadgets: vibration detectors, foreign smell sensors, air particle analysers, maxi-zoom thermal-vision and night-vision security cameras, riboidal cross-referencing radars, and colour spectrum splitters.

The black sooty landscape suited Neuro perfectly because its deathly appearance was likely to deter even the most desperate of vagrants from stepping foot on his planet and loitering. The tower had been painted the exact same charcoal-black colour as its surrounds and consequently blended in stealthily. Any sign of its presence was totally invisible from a distance of more than 500 metres away.

Just in case it was spotted, though, the structure also had a myriad of powerful letho-lasers that were programmed with a 'Shoot first, ask questions later' protocol. After all, he did not have any family or friends who would be unexpectedly popping in for a cup of tea. He was a complete loner. Anyone who chose to visit would be doing so without permission and would therefore be considered a dangerous enemy.

The rotting carcases of many curious Probe bats scattered the sooty landscape surrounding the tower. As Neuro liked to say, 'Curiosity killed the bat!' He would laugh every time his monitors showed a Probe bat being hit by what appeared to be a lightning bolt. He loved watching them spiral out of control and come crashing towards the ground.

His diet soon consisted almost exclusively of these bats. He liked the fact that his meal came to him. It appealed to his warped sense of humour. These bats have a very high protein content – which is perfect for brain cell generation. His brain was flourishing on this new diet and soon became so sophisticated that it discovered the secret to extracting every last nutrient for itself and only leaving the useless dregs for his emaciated body. His body was given no more sustenance than was required to keep it going.

The starvation diet had already caused his body to lose one of its two kidneys, its gall bladder, and over three metres of small intestine. His feet were down to three toes a piece. 'We all have to make sacrifices!' he would think aloud. 'My existing organs will just have to work harder and smarter. If not, they can all bugger off!' With nobody within cooey of him, he had taken to vocalising all of his thoughts aloud. It was really quite creepy to listen to. He sounded like a paranoid schizophrenic.

The increased brain capacity had enabled Neuro to master mind-powered levitation to a point where he could now float upwards to a distance of 800 metres and remain in the air for over one hour at a time. This enabled him to remove the towers' 49 floors' worth of steps. It was a very proud moment for him. Watching the look on his face as he removed each step was like watching a proud dad cut the umbilical cord of their newborn baby. So if you wanted to now pay him a visit – as improbable as that was – you would need to be able to fly all the way up to the top storey.

On the downside for Neuro, his head was now so large and his body so weak and skeletal that he had to rely on a contraption similar to a walking frame to keep himself upright when not levitating. It also had a special arm designed to keep his colossal head from falling forward and snapping his neck. By this stage, his head already weighed four times more than his body.

If he failed to land near this walking frame, he was forced to either drag his body along the ground towards it, or stay put until such time as his brain had rested sufficiently so as to allow him to levitate once again. He found this most frustrating.

He had recently tried levitating with the walking frame strapped to his body (it was made of a metal compound considerably lighter than aluminium) so that he could also land with it. Whilst the first few trials proved that he had the mental strength required to lift himself and the frame, the landings to date had been unmitigated disasters.

'Curse you body!' he screamed furiously while rubbing the enormous lump on his head – he mourned the loss of a few thousand brain cells.

### CHAPTER 10

### MAJIKA TAKES FLIGHT

Majika dreaded having to leave Flush Fleas by herself. The journey to the Land of the Lonely would be long, tiring, lonesome, and fraught with danger. She packed her backpack very quietly, conscious not wake anyone. She needed to be extremely selective about what she took. After all, her wings were already starting to take strain as a result of her increased body weight. Her inventory read as follows: fairy wand, fairy rings, vial of fairy dust, black fairy outfits, family of Drudger worms, bags of Sugar Fruits, _The fairies' guide to edible sugary treats throughout the_ _galaxy_ , and _Don't leave home without reading this book_.

She would need the Drudger worms to carry out daily adjustments to her outfits, so as to compensate for her ever increasing weight. The guide to sugary treats was essential because if you recall, Flush Fleas fairies can only digest sugar. Everything else gives them sore tummies.

Before leaving, she placed a fairy dust message under her parents' bedroom door. When her parents awoke, the dust would dance into the air and compose the message word for word. The message would read as follows:

It is with great sadness that I leave my beloved Flush Fleas and my wonderful family – including Flopsy. I cannot stay and put the entire community of Flush Fleas under threat of also contracting the 'Sugar Metabolism' virus. I love you all and will miss you terribly. I will take refuge in the Land of the Lonely, until such time as the virus clears my system. Please explain the reasoning behind my decision to Honeypop and Twinkledust. Under no circumstances are you or they to come after me. Please make this promise to me. Oh, and please remember to feed Flopsy lots of Sugar Fruits!

Your loving Sugar fairy daughter,

Majika

Although the sun hadn't risen yet, thousands of brightly sparkling stars and the three watermelon-shaped moons provided Majika with plenty of light. She hurriedly plucked a number of fresh Sugar Fruit canes from the massive Sugar Fruit tree out the front, and then she was off.

It broke Majika's heart to wave Flopsy away as he came hopping after her, the tips of his ears firmly in his mouth. He managed to keep up with her for about half a kilometre before he finally tired and returned home dejectedly. She normally allowed him to catch her. Majika's cheeks became drenched with tears.

She felt even heavier today than yesterday. It was going to be a very tiring journey. She decided to pass by the hidden cave on Glem Mountain that housed her best friends in the whole galaxy, Frother the Doolan dragon and Hairy the Glutton spider. She could not leave without dropping off a fairy dust message for them also. They had been so decent and loyal to her over the years.

She quietly approached the cave and peeked through the cobweb that protected its opening. She expected to see Hairy sleeping peacefully on Frother's comfortable belly. To her surprise, the cave was completely empty. She nearly jumped out of her skin with fright and pain a split second later, when something that felt like a sharp-needled cactus tapped her on the shoulder. As she spun around, she was greeted by the happy hazel eyes of Hairy. The millions of thin bristle-like hairs on his limbs felt like acupuncture needles. A few metres behind Hairy stood Frother.

The two of them had awoken especially early to go hunting and gathering before the array of pesky local birds awoke. Whilst they posed no threat whatsoever to Frother, some of the larger species would have considered Hairy a wonderful snack. Thousands of nocturnal Spulp rodents also hunted at this time, but Hairy did not hesitate to show them who was boss. If they dared to even look at him, he would chase after them with a crazed look on his face. It made him feel very powerful in his own little world, and he would strut around afterwards issuing loud challenges and ultimatums. 'I dare any of you thcrawny thacks of boneth to come any clother! Leave wight now, or I'll wip you apart and eat your thkin!'

Majika informed Frother and Hairy of her illness and her need to leave Flush Fleas immediately. Before she could even advise where she was going, they both responded at exactly the same time with: 'C-c-can w-we pl-pl-lease c-c-come?' and 'Can we come, pleathe?'

'YES!' replied Majika excitedly.

Frother hurriedly packed a massive bag of Doogal berries and Hairy rolled up a large web filled with dead Flusal flies and a variety other revolting insects. They were all packed and ready to go. Majika was delighted that they insisted on coming with her. She could do with the company. Furthermore, despite being a gentle dragon, Frother's mere size made him look quite imposing. He was also extremely strong. So, from a protection point of view, she felt a lot less vulnerable.

The Land of the Lonely belonged to nobody. It was literally a squatter's camp for those who had either decided to leave, or had been forced to leave their planet of birth at short notice. It was a place that you could take refuge in whilst you decided where to go next, and it did not require any form of permission or identification in order to gain entry. But it also was not a place that you necessarily wanted to settle down in for too long. Many of the creatures that resided there on a more permanent basis had been kicked off their birth planets for very legitimate reasons and were not welcome anywhere else.

The trio had been flying at a steady pace for about an hour already. Whilst Majika was starting to take serious strain, Frother was gliding through the air effortlessly. In order to keep up with him, she needed to produce about 30 wing strokes for every one of his. He kept offering to carry her on his back, but our stubborn, fiercely independent fairy refused to accept assistance.

As a result of over-exertion, the muscles in her shoulder blades suddenly cramped up. This caused her wings to stop flapping and she suddenly found herself free-falling rapidly towards the ground. Frother dived down after her and started to flap his enormous wings with urgency. Hairy shouted words of encouragement to Frother like a jockey willing its horse to go faster. 'Huwwy Fwother, Huwwy!'

The sheer speed and power of Frother at full speed was something to behold. He snatched Majika out of mid-air only moments before she was about to hit the ground.

For the next few hours, Majika sat on Frother's back like a spoilt, sulking child. Instead of thanking him for saving her life, she focused on her own personal humiliation at having to now be a passenger. 'Who ever heard of a fairy that needed to hitch a lift on some other creature's back?' she thought to herself bitterly.

They flew all day without stopping. Doolan dragons can fly non-stop for up to three days if required. By about 6pm, everyone was tired and grumpy. Even Hairy's optimistic spirit was starting to wane. The pumpkin-shaped spider began complaining about everything. He cursed loudly as a sudden jolt caused by air turbulence resulted in him dropping a juicy Flusal fly that he had just untangled from the exposed end of his rolled-up cobweb. He could not understand why Frother was not prepared to go chasing after the fallen fly for him. He accused Frother of showing favouritism.

'You had no pwoblem thwooping down when _Majika_ needed your help!... But when _I_ athk for your help with my Fluthal fly thituation, you ignore me... Where's the conthithtenthy Fwother...

Where's the conthithtenthy! Majika ith obviouthly your favouwite... Shame on you Fwother... Shame, shame, shame!'

Frother thought Hairy's comparing the two situations so ridiculous and unjust that it did not even warrant a response. Majika's foul mood was obviously rubbing off on everyone.

They decided to land on Barren Mountain in a territory toward the apex known as Smelter Thirteen. It was totally deserted and most of the sparse vegetation was dead or dying. The air smelt dusty and stale. It was certainly not a place to visit for a scenic trip. The depressing grey sun was already setting by the time they made camp and there was a cold, foreboding chill in the air. The grim surrounds matched the glum moods of the trio perfectly.

Despite being tired and weary, they would need to start a fire soon in order to keep warm. Fortunately, there was no shortage of dead wood scattered all around the area of dusty ground where they had set up camp.

Majika gathered up some of the smaller branches whilst Frother used his brute strength to snap entire dead tree trunks into smaller logs. Hairy sat on his backside and hungrily chewed on Flusal flies as he watched his companions graft away.

When Majika asked Hairy to stop feeding his face for a few moments and help them out, he rolled his eyes at her indignantly and then walked off with dramatically slow and heavy steps towards a tiny twig nearby. He then made loud groaning noises as he gradually dragged the twig inch by inch towards camp. It was an absolutely pathetic over-dramatisation because Hairy is not that much smaller than Majika and is probably twice as strong. The only thing that he lacked was willpower.

Majika was able to use her limited magical abilities to spark a fire. Frother's eyes stared intensely at the flames with the same sense of longing as a mother looking at a picture of her missing child. He kept stacking the fire with more and more wood. The fire's size was already well beyond their requirements.

'Enough already, Frother!' smiled Majika. 'Sit down and relax.' 'A-Are y-y-you s-sure!' implored Frother. 'Its g-g-going t-to b-b-b-be awf-ully c-cold to-to-tonight!'

'I'm positive!' replied Majika. 'Now put those logs down!'

Like a naughty school child, Frother dropped the last three logs that were still in his enormous grasp with enough deliberate forward spin so as to allow them to roll into the fire.

'Oo-Oo-Oops... S-S-Sorry!' he apologised unconvincingly, immediately diverting his eyes towards the sky and whistling sheepishly. He knew that Majika was nobody's fool and did not wish to meet her disapproving glare.

Majika was not about to allow Frother off the hook so easily. She ascended to his towering eyelevel and rested her Liticky lace shoes on the tip of his nose. She gave him a mockingly stern look. 'You're a naughty boy!' she smiled and waved her index finger at him playfully.

Frother smiled back bashfully. Had Majika not intervened, he would have happily created a three-storey-high inferno. They sat in almost complete silence as they ate their dinners. Hairy loved his food more than life itself. You could say that he lived to eat. He even ate insects whilst taking his weekly shower under the gently cascading waterfall that flowed directly behind their cave on Glem Mountain. The only time that Hairy never ate was when he was sleeping. However, even then, he dreamed of food and claimed to have the uncanny ability to enjoy the full sensation of taste in his dreams.

In this respect, he had a lot in common with Dementia. How he wished that Majika and Frother could experience his gastronomic delights. He had tried Frother's Doogal berries and Majika's Sugar Fruits, but they simply did not compare with the taste of a juicy Flusal fly or a dried out Fiddle roach. Insects were the ultimate survivors and were found in every single land, on every single planet, in every single dimension. Hairy therefore had no need for a food guide like Majika's.

As Majika chewed away noisily on a Sugar Fruit cane, a sourpuss Drudger worm slowly crawled its way around her waist with a single silk thread trailing behind it. The Drudger worm was measuring her waist for the adjustments that he and his family would need to make to her outfit for tomorrow. He scowled at Majika harshly the whole time. 'What a _nerve_ you have dragging us away from our home like this and turning us into glorified dress makers!' he shouted. None other than his equally peeved family members heard his complaint.

When Hairy suddenly spotted the Drudger worm, his eyes lit up and he licked his lips. Drudger worms were a real delicacy for Glutton spiders. These juicy treats were a scarce commodity on Glem Mountain and their discovery was always fiercely contested. He had only once had the pleasure of consuming one (when he was still very young, courtesy of his late mum) and still remembered the taste and aftertaste with relish.

'No!' shouted Majika sternly as Hairy unconsciously started to close in on his prey. 'These Drudger worms are my pets! And they serve an important function. I need them to perform daily alterations to my leotards on account of my continually increasing weight problem!'

'I'm showy!' apologised Hairy sincerely. 'I pwomithe to never even think about them again!' Hairy's eyes however, told a completely different story.

At about 8pm, the winds suddenly picked up dramatically and the trio were subjected to the most brutal of dust storms. Frother pulled both Majika and Hairy into his soft belly and then wrapped his enormous fibreglass-like wings around his front. This shielded the two of them completely and easily withstood the climatic assault. After about two hours, the winds finally settled and they all drifted into a desperately needed sleep.

As dawn broke, they set off again. Majika had regained her energy and refused to be a passenger. In order to lighten her load, she abandoned one of her heavier black leotards, which had lots of dense black Zophobian crystals sewn into it. Although it was one of her favourites, it was no longer practical.

Despite the lightened baggage, she found the flying today to be even tougher than it had been yesterday. After only half an hour in the air, she was exhausted and begrudgingly hopped onto Frother's back. Her body weight was obviously rising quite rapidly. Frother and Hairy both noticed that their fairy friend appeared a little more portly than the day before, but dared not say anything.

For the rest of the day's flying, the three companions kept one another entertained with humorous stories from their childhoods and by playing a series of games that involved spotting particular items or guessing what would be around the next corner.

Hairy told a particularly amusing story from his childhood. It involved his first encounter with another insect, which happened to be a cousin of our Earth centipede. It was his first journey away from the protection of his mother's nest. Despite being forbidden to leave the nest because he was still too young, he disobeyed his mum and crept out whilst she was asleep. Up until that point, he had not seen any other creatures and had absolutely no idea that he shared this bigger world. He cautiously approached a funny looking creature, which he assumed to just be a very ugly Glutton spider, and then instinctively flicked it onto its back. He could not believe how many limbs it had. He spent the next five minutes counting and re-counting its limbs whilst the centipede-like creature wriggled helplessly. He was now sure that it had at least 100 limbs. Yet he only had 30 limbs. How could this be?

He was very quiet and withdrawn at dinner that night. When his mother asked what the problem was, he burst into tears and demanded to know what his mother had done with the rest of his, hers, and his siblings limbs. After she finished laughing, Hairy's mother lovingly explained to her son that other creatures also existed in the greater galaxy.

Majika's best story was about the time when she and her girlfriends spent an entire day collecting the flower heads of thousands of Rising flowers. They placed the buoyant contents into several enormous vacuum-sealed bags and effectively created the equivalent of eight large helium balloons. The next day, they snuck up on an unsuspecting Soul wizard boy named Olentia, who had been happily sleeping outdoors on a sunny rock, and gently tied the vacuum-sealed bags around his wrists and ankles. Olentia began a gradual ascent into the air. Once he was over 30 metres high, the fairies awoke him by shouting, 'Wakey, wakey! Rise and Shine!'

Olentia got an enormous fright and begged them to help him down. They outright refused. In the end, he was forced to exit his Bend rubber form in order to escape its continued ascent. There was no problem with this because Soul wizards' souls are completely capable of flight. It is their heavy Bend rubber frames that weigh them down.

Majika and her friends then popped the bags and watched with glee as his rubbery form went hurtling to the ground. The impact caused it to suffer such enormous trauma that it was now only fit for the scrap heap. They laughed joyously as they watched Olentia start the tedious task of creating a new form. She explained that this punishment they dished out to Olentia was purely motivated by revenge.

A week earlier, Olentia and two of his Soul wizard buddies had tied up Majika and three of her Sugar fairy friends and then painted them from head to toe with Murkleberry juice. They had only released their screaming captives once the Murkleberry juice had fully dried and was almost impossible to remove. It had taken each of the fairies days of continual scrubbing to finally remove the stubborn dye.

Olentia and his Soul wizard buddies avenged his humiliating fall from the sky a few days later by creating the most grotesque-looking monster forms and then scaring the living daylights out of Majika and her friends. Majika got such a fright that she spent that night sleeping in her older sister Honeypop's room.

Frother's story involved his seventh birthday. Whereas we humans are always challenged to blow out our birthday candles using only a single outwards breath, Doolan dragons are challenged to light all of their birthday candles using only a single outwards breath. However, their candles take the form of metre high pieces of solid hardwood. They are required to stand two metres further away from their wooden candles with each passing year. Because Frother had just turned seven, he was required to stand 14 metres away from the seven pieces of hardwood.

As Frother took a deep breath and then exhaled an enormous flame, his best friend Combustin, who was standing a little bit to his left, failed to contain an enormous fart from escaping. The highly flammable methane fumes attracted Frother's flame and soon Combustin's chunky bum was also shooting flames. It only took a few strokes of several adult Doolan dragons' wings to extinguish the flames. However, Combustin never lived it down and gained the unfortunate nickname of 'Bumbustin'.

As nightfall approached, the three companions took shelter again. They had reached the Five Brothers, a landscape dominated by five huge mountains. They sheltered on the apex of Brother Five because Majika's guide to Sugar fairy treats advised that a delicious sugary plant called the Sweet-Stemmed Balboa flourished close to its apex.

The landscape here was quite pretty. There were a few really interesting-looking upside-down Meat trees growing nearby. The branches of Meat trees grow along the ground whilst the roots soar high into the air. And instead of sprouting leaves, the ends of the branches sprout what look like raw chunks of mince meat.

The roots of Meat trees swing around in the air like highly pressurised hosepipes and slap passing insects to kill or stun them. They then reverse their air cycle and vacuum up their fallen prey. Unsuspecting insects are lured towards these roots because of their spectacular colours and their amazing synchronised movements.

The vacuumed up insects pass through a series of powerful shredders that remove and retain any wings, bones and exoskeletons, as they travel down the Meat trees' enormous trunks. The perfectly filtered meat is then pushed with immense downwards pressure towards the ends of the branches below. The meat squeezes its way through the hundreds of tiny, sharp-edged grater holes at the end of each branch which minces it into neat little parcels.

With some of the insects that frequent this region being as large as your average domestic dog, the Meat trees have a plentiful supply of fresh meat. Their roots suck with such intense power that they easily force even the giant Bubblefleas' watermelon-sized head through their circular openings, which are no wider than an Australian 50-cent piece.

Frother had not tasted any meat in years and was tempted to try a few handfuls of this minced meat. However, in the end, he decided to err on the side of caution because none of them had the foggiest notion as to whether or not the meat was poisonous. For all they knew, it could have been the tree's way of seducing and trapping bigger prizes.

Hairy, of course, was incapable of putting his personal safety ahead of his stomachly desires, and had already lined the base of each of his 30 limbs with a smoothed-out parcel of minced meat. It looked as if he was wearing meat patty shoes.

'No, Hairy!' shouted Majika. 'Remove the meat from the base of your limbs immediately! Frother is right. The meat may well be poisoned.'

'But there are no boneth anywhere!' cried Hairy angrily. 'While I may not be a geniuth, I do know that when thingth die, they leave behind their boneth!'

'You can cut the attitude right now!' shouted Majika 'It is very possible that this sophisticated tree consumes its victims' bones as well!'

'Well, I'm willing to take my chantheth!' shouted Hairy. Frother restrained Hairy whilst Majika used the tip of her wand to scrape the 30 meat patties from the base of each of his 30 limbs. 'Pleathe!' pleaded Hairy. 'I've hardly got any inthects left! I'm down to my leatht favouriteth!'

The young Glutton spider cried uncontrollably as Majika and Frother then also removed the last remaining parcels of minced meat from the branches of the Meat tree and threw the lot over the edge of a steep cliff nearby.

'Throw me over ath well... Pleathe!' screamed the overly dramatic Hairy. 'I cannot bear thith life anymore!'

It took quite a while before Hairy finally stopped hyperventilating and regained his composure. Only then did Frother ask the all important question that had been puzzling him.

'T-t-tell me H-H-airy!' laughed Frother. 'J-j-just as a m-m-matter of in-in-interest, h-h-how did y-y-you plan on w-w-walking back to c-c-camp with the b-b-base of each of y-y-your li-li-limbs sm-sm-smeared in m-m-meat?'

'I wathn't planning to!' laughed Hairy. 'I wath going to lie down on my backthide right here and thlowly enjoy the featht!'

Even Majika laughed at Hairy's simple but obvious solution as she busily harvested a number of Sweet-Stemmed Balboas nearby.

Whilst Majika sucked and chewed on their sugar-rich stems a half hour later, Frother and Hairy snacked on what was left of their dwindling supplies. As Hairy's flamingo-pink lips half-heartedly pulverised a very bland, dried out Pliga-moth, his thoughts turned to the delicious family of juicy Drudger worms that were now busily working on the required alterations to Majika's outfits.

Majika failed to see this. Her thoughts were focused squarely on the day ahead. She estimated that they were only about five hours from the Land of the Lonely. They would reach it by mid-to-late afternoon tomorrow. Where would they shelter? How would they barter for food? How would they determine which creatures were good and trustworthy, and which creatures were evil and dangerous? Although she considered herself to be a reasonably good judge of character, her exposure to other creatures had been somewhat limited. This was her first time out of Flush Fleas.

She started to have a mild panic attack. Had she perhaps made a terrible mistake by leaving the safety of Flush Fleas? Had she been selfish in allowing Frother and Hairy to join her? Both were fairly naive and probably had no idea what potential dangers awaited them.

She reasoned that they could always return to Flush Fleas if they were not happy. If they did, who would she speak to then? Who would protect her? How would she get around? Her wings were becoming more and more useless with every passing day. This made her panic even further. How she wished for her beloved Drudger worms to wrap her up in a big protective Drudger silk cacoon. She would hibernate until such time as the virus subsided and she could return to Flush Fleas. Frother saw the look of gloom on her face.

'Are y-y-you okay, M-M-Majika?' he asked compassionately. His long black eyelashes fluttered over his warm, purple eyes as he spoke.

'Can I please have a hug?' she cried.

Frother gently picked her up and squeezed her delicately into his soft, comfy belly. His warmth immediately made her feel safe. He then gently stroked her jet-black hair with his huge hands. Her crystal-blue eyes gradually closed. In less than three minutes, she was fast asleep. Frother wrapped his enormous wings snugly around both of them, and then slowly drifted off as well.

Whilst the other two snored loudly, Hairy remained wide awake. He was engaged in a fierce battle with his conscience. 'Would Majika even notithe if I only ate one of her Dwudger wormth?' he thought to himself. (Yes, Hairy also thought in lisp!) 'Would thee even care if thee _did_ notithe that one wath miththing? There would thtill be more than enough left over to do what thee requires of them!'

After gradually creeping up to the bag of Drudger worms several times and then retreating shamefully, he finally gave into temptation and opened the bag. He selected one of the smaller worms. To his now twisted thinking, this made the crime a little bit smaller.

He sat on a rock and chomped into his prize. The little Drudger worm's soft juicy body was easy work for this toothless pumpkin spider's powerful flamingo-pink lips. The taste even surpassed that of his childhood memories. He repeatedly licked his lips and the tips of his fingers. Not a morsel went to waste. He went back to the bag of Drudger worms and looked inside. The panic-stricken Drudgers were wriggling around so much and also blended in so well with the colour and texture of the bag that it made it almost impossible to count them. There was therefore no way she would notice that one was missing.

'If thee ith unlikely to notithe that one ith miththing, thee pwobably wouldn't notithe if two were miththing!' he thought to himself. 'After all, two ith only one more than one!'

Hairy had become the king of self justification. Two Drudger worms turned to three, three turned to four, and four turned to five.

By the time Hairy had eaten the fifth, there were only four left. 'Given that five are now miththing,' he thought to himself, 'thee will definitely notithe. And given that I will have to fathe the conthequintheth tomowwow morning whether I leave the other four or not, I may ath well finnith them off.'

Hairy cried with disgust as he gobbled down the final four. He was left with a bitter taste in his mouth, the taste they call guilt.

As Majika awoke, Hairy ran to her and begged for forgiveness. His eyes were bright red and puffy. He had clearly not slept a wink all night.

'Pleathe find it in your heart to forgive me, for I have thinned!' he cried and banged his hands down beseechingly on the sand before her feet. 'I am weak. I don't detherve you ath a fwiend!'

It took Majika and Frother a while to work out what Hairy had done that was so heinous. Every time he tried to explain, he broke down in hysterical tears. They finally managed to calm Hairy down sufficiently so as to get a mumbled confession. The only words that could be deciphered through the cries and severe lisping were 'ate', 'Dwudger', and 'wormth'. These were sufficient prompts for them to full in the missing gaps.

Majika was bitterly disappointed with Hairy for being so self-centered and such a guts. But at least he had confessed immediately and he clearly felt extreme guilt for his actions. For these reasons, she could not stay angry with him for too long. He was a loveable little rogue.

After letting off a bit of steam, she forgave him. He had clearly suffered enough already from his own feelings of guilt. More worrying for Majika was the issue of how she was going to get the necessary daily alterations to her fairy outfits done. She had no thread and no idea how to sew. This was yet another obstacle to overcome. The worry clearly showed on her face.

Hairy felt absolutely awful for the trouble his greediness had caused. He could not even look Majika in the eye anymore. He meandered off quietly with his head bowed so low that it scraped against the blue sand under his feet and created a distinct trench-shaped trail. He returned triumphantly a half hour later with a magnificently spun translucent cobweb fairy outfit.

'It is beautiful, Hairy, and I really appreciate the thought and effort!' smiled Majika sincerely. 'However, there is one slight problem! It—'

Before Majika could finish her sentence, Hairy interjected. 'Of courthe... Thilly me.' lisped Hairy enthusiastically and slapped his own forehead. 'It needth a belt around the waitht to thuck in your big tummy!'

'Thanks for that!' shouted Majika 'I had no idea that my tummy was so big and repulsive that it needed to be sucked in!'

'Jutht ath well I pointed it out then!' replied Hairy with even more enthusiasm. He had no idea that his comments about her tummy were hurting the little fairy's feelings. He was simply doing what he always did – speaking without thinking first.

Majika burst into tears and covered her tummy with her arms. 'I... I... I was simply going to point out that this cobweb outfit is completely see-through!'

'I'm thowwy Majika!' cried Hairy with genuine emotion in his lisping voice. 'I did not mean to upthet you! My _thtupid_ mouth getth me into twouble all the time!'

Hairy then dramatically pulled out a needle and some cobweb thread which was stored under a loose fold of skin on his back and raised the threaded needle towards his wobbling pink upper lip. He then screamed out in agony several times, as he half heartedly poked the needle against this wobbling lip.

'What are you doing!' exclaimed Frother and Majika at exactly the same time. Frother was so surprised by Hairy's peculiar behaviour that, for once, he did not even stutter.

'I am going to thew my lipth together forever!' shouted the ever dramatic Hairy. 'Tho that they never hurt Majika or anyone eltheth feelingth ever again!'

'If you want to be a ridiculous martyr, Hairy, that's your choice!' shouted Majika. Hairy continued to poke and scream and poke and scream.

'In fact,' continued Majika, 'seeing as you are doing such a poor job yourself, I might just come over and help you!'

As Majika stepped forward, Hairy immediately took a few quick steps backwards and hurriedly threw the needle into a plush pile of silver-coloured grass to his left.

'E-E-Enough! B-B-Both of y-you!' intervened Frother. He realised that tensions were escalating dangerously between the scorned Sugar fairy and the overdramatic Glutton spider. He desperately needed to change their focus. 'I n-n-noticed that the st-st-stems of the Sw-sweet St-St-St-Stemmed Balb-B-B-Boas that y-y-you were s-s-sucking on l-l-last night, M-M-Majika, were l-l-leaking quite a l-l-lot of br-br-bright red s-s-sap. I s-s-suggest that w-w-e try dy-dy-dyeing the tr-tr-translucent c-c-cobweb outfit r-r-red using this s-s-s-sap.'

Verbalising longer sentences like this was both exhausting and frustrating for Frother. He literally had to fight with his throat and his mouth to get every syllable out. It was like a constant tug-o-war. He was very conscious of this and therefore tended to keep his speaking to a bare minimum – where possible. Both Majika and Hairy felt an overwhelming desire to finish Frother's words and sentences every time he spoke. They could not bear to see him suffer each time. However, they were aware that Frother found any attempts to assist him whilst he spoke to be very insulting. He refused to be treated like an invalid.

Frother's idea to use the sap from these Sweet-Stemmed Balboas to dye the translucent cobweb outfit was inspired! He was not just a pretty face. Inside that massive head lived a very smart brain. It was him after all, who had concocted the plan that stopped Wandina in her tracks and allowed Majika to rightfully gain the crown of 'Fastest Sugar fairy in Flush Fleas'.

Tempers settled and ill feelings diminished as they all focused on squeezing Sweet-Stemmed Balboa sap into the bowl-shaped half of a massive Hoolum tree seed pod. Each Hoolum seed pod is about the size of a soccer ball and always split perfectly down the middle when they fall to the ground. In his bestselling book, _Don't leave_ _home without reading this book_ , the famous explorer and renowned author Regal Bengal advises against ever sleeping under the protection of the Hoolum's massive branches because, 'Should the wind blow sufficiently strongly, you will find yourself being pelted painfully, and sometimes lethally, by dozens of its massive seeds.'

Having filled the massive half seed pod to its brim with sap, Majika completely submerged the cobweb outfit and weighed it down with a stone. She let it soak for half an hour before removing it and letting it dry on a large boulder. It would be a late start today!

The sap worked a treat and Majika now had a slinky new Ferrari-red outfit. Behind the privacy of a massive Hoolum tree trunk, she excitedly tried on her new threads. They fitted her body beautifully. Hairy was on his way to becoming a first rate dressmaker.

'I wonder what I can use to make black dye!' thought Majika. Her other two black leotards were no longer of use so she abandoned them. When the time finally came to leave, Majika flapped her wings furiously, hovered for a few moments, and then came crashing to the ground like a heavy stone. She had taken her last solo flight – at least for the time being.

Hairy slept for the entire flight. It was just as well, because a myriad of insects unintentionally bashed into Majika's new outfit and got caught in its sticky fibers. She was like a bright-coloured wind shield. After the Drudger worm fiasco, the last thing she wanted was for her dress to also become a source of edible temptation to Hairy. Her skin crawled as she slowly removed each disgusting looking insect and set it free. Her delicate lace gloves provided almost no tactile protection.

As Hairy snored away loudly and proudly, Majika and Frother took the opportunity to engage in a deep and meaningful discussion. Majika expressed her concerns and Frother tried his best to assure her that everything would be alright. However, he also started to feel his optimism slowly spill, as the musty odour of the Land of the Lonely penetrated his large, sensitive nostrils. It reeked of neglect and despair.

### CHAPTER 11

### SKED'S EXODUS

'We have to leave right now!' whispered Sked. His soft, bass tone of voice carried a real sense of urgency.

'But Hildegard is far too weak to travel!' exclaimed Flufiel in his helium voice, speaking as fast as a Bullet Train. What Sked actually heard come out of Flufiel's mouth sounded something more like this. 'ButHildegardisfartooweaktotravel!

Hildegard was fast asleep and breathing unevenly.

'We have no choice!' whispered Sked, as he gently picked up Hildegard and delicately slung her over his huge shoulders. Although she groaned in agony, she did not have the strength to open her eyelids. 'Dawn will be approaching soon.' continued Sked.

Based on his fellow Riboltians' out of control, psychotic reaction to the disappearance of Flufiel, he could only imagine how they would react when they discovered that Hildegard had also escaped. They would be absolutely furious and bent on revenge. They would not stop this time until Flufiel and Hildegard were captured and their co-conspirators exposed. All would then face the most gruesome of slow deaths.

By the time the first rays of morning light had broken through, Sked and his companions were well and truly on their way. Despite carrying an awkward load on his shoulders, Sked moved at a blistering pace. Flufiel's little feet were struggling to keep up. Sked realised this and therefore decided to carry the fur ball as well. He looked quite a sight with Hildegard slung across his shoulders and Flufiel in his open arms.

As Sked passed by the last of the majestic Gold trees, he felt a pang of sadness at the prospect of never getting to see this beautiful landscape again. However, he felt no sadness about the prospect of never getting to see his parents or siblings again. They were as evil as the rest of his kind and he knew that they would happily watch him burn at the stake if captured. He could envision them all hurriedly collecting as much fire wood as possible to feed the flames.

Dawn broke and the two sleepy Riboltian guards awoke with great shock. Their prize had escaped. All hell soon broke loose. When they reported that Hildegard had escaped, their supervisor kicked them both in their backsides and cursed them and their families. Their supervisor, in turn, had his backside kicked by his manager. On and on it went, until a lot of Riboltians were walking around with bruised backsides and dented egos.

Every single Coolabooh and Lentina was lined up and whipped. Accusations were fired indiscriminately at any creature who dared to breathe or raise their heads. They were forced to stand dead still and at attention as the Riboltians continued to assess the situation. By 11am, it was boiling hot and many of the older and weaker creatures were starting to faint. No mercy was shown. The fallen were whipped until they awoke, and then dragged back to their feet. No food, drink, or medicine was permitted.

It was Payne, a large Riboltian torture expert, who noticed the distinctive Riboltian footsteps leading away from the pole. Yet there were no Lentina footsteps in the immediate vicinity. This was very odd indeed. Flanked by five guards, he followed the Riboltian footsteps all the way back to Sked's parents' house.

Instead of ringing the doorbell, Payne kicked down the front door. Sked's dad, Dred, rushed to the door with his batten drawn.

'Where are you hiding that pathetic Lentina girl!' shouted Payne. Dred was pinned down painfully by the guards as they rummaged through each of the 38 rooms. They forcibly evicted Sked's mum and his four brothers from their rooms. Sked's room was empty and he was missing. There was no mistaking Sked's room. The walls were adorned with magnificent self-composed watercolours of the landscape; the desk was scattered with a variety of pressed flowers and leaves; and the floor was a bumpy mosaic of colourful river stones.

'Where's that other girly son of yours!' screamed Payne, breaking Dred's podgy middle finger for good measure. 'The one they call Sked.'

'I... I... I have no idea!' screamed Dred in agony, and cowered against the wall. 'Please don't break any more of my fingers!'

'How pathetic!' continued Payne. 'Your wimpy son does not even have a single weapon hanging from his wall! And what's with the arty-farty nonsense? What sort of a father are you?' Payne violently ripped the paintings from the wall and smashed the desk into hundreds of splintered pieces with an enormous sledgehammer.

'He's... he's not my son!' lied Dred unconvincingly. 'We... we found the little runt roaming the streets when he was only three. We brought him home in the hope that we could mould him into a good house slave!'

'Don't lie!' screamed Payne and broke several of Dred's toes with one downwards motion of the same sledgehammer. 'He has exactly the same deformed nose as you!' By deformed, Payne meant that Dred's nose was not the normal flat bath-plug shape common to most Riboltian men. Instead, it protruded forward like a human nose.

Whilst Dred cried and whimpered, Payne and his blood-hungry scoundrels plundered their way through the rest of the house. They noticed that one of the underground basement rooms showed signs of having been occupied. The bed's blankets were dishevelled and eating utensils still had scraps of food on them. They also found large clumps of white Coolabooh fur and a few bloodied Lentina scales on the floor.

Sked's family were taken to the torture chambers for further 'friendly discussions'. For the next few hours, awful sounds reverberated through the town centre as stretching machine gears churned, skin peeler blades whirred, and the acid showers sizzled. The sounds echoed throughout the town thanks to extremely powerful loudspeakers. Intimidation was the name of the game.

Two large search teams were organised. Team A consisted of 120 Riboltians who would search the immediate vicinity of the town. Team B consisted of 50 Riboltians who would venture beyond the town centre and keep venturing further and further until the escapees and their accomplice had been found.

By the time Team B finally set off, Sked and his companions already had a five hour head start. All three of them were very weary by this point and Sked therefore suggested that they stop for a well-earned rest.

Although Sked found carrying Flufiel and Hildegard all this way to be extremely exhausting, the freedom to engage in unrestricted dialogue with Flufiel managed to distract the intense feelings of pain that tugged at his enormous calves and shoulders.

Both Sked and Flufiel believed that a higher force somewhere up there was looking out for them and guiding them every step of the way. They also both dreamed of living in a utopia where creatures of all colours, shapes, and sizes, could live in harmony.

'Where you don't have to watch where you walk, or ask for permission to breathe!' smiled Flufiel. His puppy-dog eyes twinkled at the thought.

'Indeed!' smiled Sked. 'Where you can be yourself, and even be appreciated for being yourself!'

'A place where everyone respects one another and sees the value in working together towards a common goal!' continued Flufiel.

'One day...' sighed Sked ruefully. Whilst he was a dreamer, he was also a realist!

Although Sked loved talking to Flufiel, it took a lot of concentration to comprehend what the fluffy soccer ball was saying most of the time because the excitement of these topics made his words come out even faster and higher pitched than normal. Sked had to tell the exuberant little fellow to take a deep breath and slow down a number of times.

As they rested, the leader of Team B, Murda, searched for any decisive foot trail. He finally came upon a fresh-looking set of Riboltian tracks that continued well beyond the last of the Gold trees in a northerly direction. Given that Riboltians never ventured past this point, Murda was confident that he now had the fugitives' measure. There was no point venturing past this point unless you were trying to escape. The terrain suddenly became barren and dry. It was where the Great River ended. If you kept walking north from this point, you eventually arrived at the Land of the Lonely.

Murda and his team of thugs set off in haste. Although lazy by nature, the Riboltians would always become very energetic when the smell of blood beckoned. Murda wanted to track down their bounty before they reached the Land of the Lonely. He did not want to confront any other creatures who lived here and who may show loyalty to Sked and his fugitive companions.

You see, the Riboltians were in fact enormous cowards. When confronted with creatures larger or more powerful than themselves, their heads would retract into their hollow chest cavities and their hands would swing wildly, as they screamed like hysterical banshees. The Riboltians had not always been such big shots in their own territory, either! Prior to them lethally poisoning the entire population of giant Penrolls – who once shared the land with them, the Coolaboohs and the Lentinas – the Riboltians would cower and go into this ridiculous defence mode every time a gigantic Penroll walked past. The sad fact is that although the Penrolls resembled two-storey-high, solid-brick buildings, they were the most gentle of giants who wouldn't even harm a fly.

They were fairly shy and tended to keep to themselves. Nonetheless, they were always courteous to their neighbours and never used more of the land's resources than was necessary for survival. They always greeted the Riboltians, Coolaboohs and Lentinas, despite being treated with a mixture of aggression and loath by the Riboltians. They even took great care to avoid accidentally squashing any Coolaboohs underfoot.

It was only once the Penrolls had been exterminated that the Riboltians started bullying the Coolaboohs and enslaving the Lentinas. It was only then that they arrogantly changed the name of this territory from its original name, 'Land of the Golden Trees', to the new, self-indulgent, 'Riboltia'.

Sked awoke Flufiel and Hildegard after only half an hour of sleep. Hardly refreshing, but they could not afford to take longer breaks. He had to assume that they were already being chased down. If he assumed otherwise, complacency would set in and they could all end up paying the ultimate price.

Sked had heard the awful stories that the Riboltians told about the Land of the Lonely. Although they made him very nervous, what other option did they have? It was the only inhabited land that they could get to by foot within a 200-kilometre radius. If they had ventured south, they would have had to travel a gruelling 800 kilometres before eventually reaching the Land of the Fluwops.

There was no way they would have made it that far, even if Flufiel and Hildegard had been in good shape. To travel such a distance, you needed hardy animals to either carry you or fly you. Furthermore, food and water sources were almost nonexistent and it was boiling hot by day and freezing cold by night.

The path to the west was blocked by the Great River and the path to the east was blocked by the Never-Ending Cliffs. They would just have to take their chances with the Land of the Lonely. At least it was a starting point. There were other lands that they could consider moving to once they had reached this point.

### CHAPTER 12

### FATHERHOOD

Dementia was no longer responsible for only himself. He was now also responsible for the orphan Elkwoodian king, Willowood. This was a scary thought considering that he was slowly losing his memory.

It would have been a much easier option to remain in Flush Fleas. The place was beautiful, relatively peaceful, and plentiful. It was an almost perfect environment to bring up a young child. The only real enemies were the Doolan dragons and Traizon. However, the Doolan dragons were being kept well in check by the Burlian dragon slayers. Besides, they only attacked young Sugar fairies, so they posed no threat whatsoever to Dementia or Willowood. Dementia was also fairly certain that Traizon would not strike for at least another hundred years now. He had created enough negative energy with his recent massacre of the Elkwoodians to power his tainted soul for a long, long time.

Nevertheless, Dementia felt that he had brought shame to the Soul wizard community of Flush Fleas by failing so dismally in his attempt to rid the Elkwoodian elves of the 'Negativity Curse'. Yes, they were under a hideous spell when he arrived; but at least they were alive. As a direct result of his intervention, all except one were now dead, and their species teetered on the brink of extinction. With Willowood being the last of his bloodline, his death would be the final nail on their coffin. Their existence would then be confined to the pages of history books.

Dementia wanted to pay the galaxy back for his huge mistake by doing something with the rest of his life that could really make a difference. He had heard the stories of the crime and corruption that took place in the Land of the Lonely. He had made a decision to therefore visit this land and possibly settle there. He would use his magical powers to help improve the place. After all, why should decent people who had nowhere else to go end up being killed or victimised by the less desirable residents of this place of refuge?

Although Dementia had given up his supreme wand, he still had Old Faithful, the wand that he used prior to receiving his supreme wand. She had been sitting idle in the umbrella stand collecting dust for over 40 years now. He would definitely need to give her a few test runs before he and King Willowood headed off. She would no doubt be a little bit rusty and completely out of touch with the latest advances in Soul wizard spell creation.

Dementia's humble abode is located snugly in the middle of the breathtakingly beautiful Serene forest, on the western border of Flush Fleas. Its cane-clad outer shell is completely dwarfed by the millions of ancient Pritushi canes that surround it and reach as high as 140 metres. Even though Pritushi canes have very little foliage, they produce an abundance of star-shaped flowers that continually fall to the ground and create a fragrant pink carpet below all year round. Despite these cylindrical canes all being hollow inside, their apexes end in a shallow bowl shape. Rainwater always gets trapped in these shallow bowls, and the water then stagnates within until such time as the lime-green sunrays gradually swallow it up.

The Pritushi-cane outer shell of Dementia's cabin-looking house hides the fact that the entire internal frame is constructed from Shrewd wood. It is therefore like living in an enormous hollowed out wand. 'The Powers that Be' had authorised its Shrewd wood construction many years ago in order to protect the ageing wizard from the myriad of potential enemies who might attempt to harm or kidnap him as he slept – not least of which being Traizon.

The patriarch and matriarch of the Shrewd trees, Sir Barkalot and Lady Woodsworth _,_ had authorised the felling of a number of spare limbs from a few younger Shrewdies for its construction. Despite the wood being only 8000 years old, which was fairly immature by Shrewdie standards, its magical protective powers had already paid dividends on several occasions.

On one memorable occasion, it subliminally brainwashed an ill-intentioned male Tishy gnome into believing that there were great treasures to be discovered in the bowl-shaped top of one in every five of the highest Pritushi canes. The salivating Tishy gnome hurriedly exited Dementia's abode and started clumsily ascending the first enormous pole.

Tishy gnomes' tiny fingers and toes, as well as their extremely concave spines, are hardly designed for pole-climbing. Two gruelling hours later, the exhausted creature reached the apex, only to find that his first guess had been incorrect. He dejectedly started the slow and dangerous descent. Having spent a fruitless twelve hours climbing up and down six different poles without success, the hapless creature pulled out his crudely fashioned axe and started hacking away at one of the bases that he had not ascended as yet. When the mammoth cane eventually gave way and came crashing down, it fell directly on top of him and turned him into a very thin Tishy Gnome paste.

Only last night, the young Shrewd wood frame had managed to subliminally convince a prowling Skellem (the stone-winged Carbanara intent on killing Dementia), that there was a secret magic potion resembling rain water stored in the tops of the more mature canes. It convinced her that once consumed, this would allow her to have any wish that she desired come true – even Dementia's demise!

'So this is how one kills that damn Soul wizard!' smiled Skellem. She took the bait hook, line and sinker and began her tiresome ascent. The stone wings attached to her shoulder blades and her enormous baboon backside made the climb almost unbearably difficult; but still she persevered. When she finally reached the top, there was indeed a potion that resembled rainwater.

Despite smelling putrid and being full of dead, long-winged Wokkies (similar to mosquitoes), she stuck her thin ostrich face deep into the bowl and greedily slurped down the potion. She then wished for Dementia's demise.

'Rubber head is finally dead!' screamed Skellem with unbridled joy. The ruckus outside awoke Dementia from his sleep. He was left feeling rather peeved and headed straight outdoors to investigate and punish the inconsiderate noisemaker. When he saw who it was, he was both irritated and intrigued. He awoke Old Faithful and set her to work. The next moment, the Pritushi cane was shaking violently from side to side.

'She... it!' screamed Skellem, as she lost her grip and went plummeting through the air towards the ground.

Dementia took pity on her and turned the soil surrounding this particular Pritushi cane into soft, watery mud moments before she hit the ground.

'Help me! I can't swim!' cried Skellem between mouthfuls of mud. Dementia turned Old Faithful into a rope and pulled the desperate Carbanara out of the quagmire. He then wrapped her in warm blankets, and made her a delicious cup of Pritushi flower tea. Like Wile E. Coyote, this Carbanara would also live to fight another day. Whilst she slowly recovered, Dementia went on to explain that Wizfiddle had not intentionally caused all the Carbanaras' wings to turn to stone. On the contrary, he was trying to perform a spell designed to help them regain their ability to fly.

Up until now, Skellem had never known that the whole incident was an accident. Over the years, the story had been embellished and modified greatly by her elders and told of evil Soul wizards deliberately plotting to disfigure the Carbanaras and keep them flightless. Dementia's sincere account of what really happened cast a completely new light on things for Skellem. The Soul wizards had good intentions. They were decent rather than villains. It was an accident rather than an act of malicious intent. Skellem made an oath to spend the rest of her life now protecting the ageing Soul wizard instead of trying to destroy him.

'It is the least I can do,' said Skellem, 'after all I have put you through over the years!'

'No thanks, you have done quite enough already!' replied Dementia sarcastically.

'I insist!' continued Skellem adamantly. 'I will be your silent, invisible shadow... A ghost, a spectre, a spirit... your guardian angel.' Dementia did not have the heart to tell Skellem that she was more like a noisy alarm clock, a luminous beacon, a flashing neon light, a vial of Strobe glitter... an annoying little devil, an accident waiting to happen!

'I must take cover now!' continued Skellem. She did a quick bow and then lumbered off towards the Pritushi trees. 'Although you may never see me again, I will be wherever you are, watching out for you!'

Dementia tried his best not to laugh as both pink cheeks of Skellem's enormous baboon backside blatantly protruded from either side of a Pritushi cane that she was now supposedly hiding behind.

Dementia's nearest neighbour lived over 80 kilometres away. It was therefore the perfect place to put Old Faithful through her paces. He started out by trying one of the simplest of 'Clearance' spells. He would get Old Faithful to help him clear a 20-by-40-metre patch of newly sprouted Pritushi cane shoots that were encroaching on his gradually shrinking backyard.

Pritushi canes grow like wild bamboo. Their powerful underground runners send new shoots surging skywards in all directions. The new shoots can grow by as much as a metre a day. Consequently, many of this new batch were already 30 metres high and 30 centimetres thick.

He waved Old Faithful's Shrewd wood body slowly upwards, chanted a few haunting words in Swahili, and then wriggled his toes. Shoot after shoot started to fall. However, they only fell to a 45-degree angle. None of them fell to the ground. Each now stood precariously, being neither up nor down. Whilst Willowood found this rather amusing, it left Dementia feeling most irritated.

'Please don't be such a difficult old lady!' he shouted and looked down sternly at Old Faithful. 'I know you did that deliberately. Are you upset with me because I abandoned you when I received my supreme wand? You are, aren't you?'

Old Faithful confirmed Dementia's suspicions by suddenly glowing red hot in the ageing wizard's right hand and branding her shape very deeply into his rubber palm. This infuriated Dementia because he would now be forced to either create a new form or live with a severely deformed palm for the time being.

'You daughter of a Tishy-gnome-brained, Riboltian slavedriver!' he screamed out in anger. The grumpy 'Old Lady' was made of 100 percent Shrewd wood and did not appreciate his comment in the slightest. She responded to this insult by glowing red hot again and burning his right palm even further. His thumb was now only just holding on by a few loose threads. Dementia now had a clear indication as to just how angry she was.

Willowood found the whole situation incredibly amusing and had to cover his mouth tightly to prevent himself from bursting out with laughter. This caused both of his cheeks to swell up like over-inflated hot water bottles. He simply could not believe that one of the most powerful wizards to have ever existed was taking a massive spanking from an old piece of Shrewd wood who was way past her use-by date.

Dementia could clearly see that Willowood was enjoying the entertainment. Although feeling somewhat humiliated, Dementia swallowed his pride and sincerely apologised to Old Faithful for his nasty jibe and for abandoning her for so long. He patiently explained to her that when he was given the honour of becoming a supreme Soul wizard, he was forced to make an oath to only use a supreme wand. Old Faithful showed that all was forgiven by releasing her grip on the trees that were half up, half down. They all came crashing down at exactly the same time. The entire forest echoed loudly and the ground below shook violently. Willowood got such an enormous fright that he nearly jumped out of his skin and let out a high-pitched squeal.

'Serves you right for laughing at me!' thought Dementia childishly. Ridiculous male pride and one-upmanship seems to be a universal phenomenon.

The falling trees also exposed the rest of Skellem's strange shape. 'Hi!' she waved sheepishly and covered her front as if her shower curtain had been unexpectedly pulled away. 'Wasn't expecting that!' The absent-minded wizard was delighted to have the 'Old Lady' back. What she lacked in skill and finesse, she well and truly made up for in terms of character. He recalled how hard she always tried and he had grown to love her 'never give up' attitude. If one attempt did not work, she was happy for Dementia to keep trying and trying. Most wands would get irritated with their master if his first attempt failed. They would become sulky for the rest of the day. Consequently, 'wand rage' was common amongst Soul wizards. Many a good wand was snapped in anger and rendered as useless as fire wood.

Having passed all the simpler tests with flying colors, Dementia put Old Faithful through a more complex series of tests. First they froze a flock of Wooffe birds in time, as the birds passed by. Then they turned a small dam to ice even though it was the middle of summer. Then they made it rain on a solitary Pritushi cane. The neighbouring trees remained bone dry. Finally, they teleported themselves to the town centre of Flush Fleas and landed directly in front of its historic town hall.

'What the...' exclaimed Skellem as she watched them vanish before her very eyes.

A frantic Mayor Weezel spotted Dementia and Willowood from his town hall office window and came rushing down the stairs. By the time he got there, Dementia and the orphan king had already vanished.

Mayor Weezel was devastated because he urgently needed Dementia's assistance. You see, all of the Sugar fairies in Flush Fleas were starting to put on weight at an alarming rate. There were very few left who could still fly. He correctly suspected that the Sugar fairies' sudden inability to metabolise sugar properly, may have in fact been caused by some sort of evil curse rather than by some sort of virus. He inferred this because he knew that he had personally compromised Flush Fleas' magical defences against evil magic by willingly handing over so many of its sacred jewels to the Burlian dragon slayers in return for their services. The pile of sacred jewels was now almost half its original size and glowing very dimly. If all the jewels were still together as they should have been, it would have glowed brightly.

Weezel was ready to make a complete confession to Dementia. He could not bear to see his little Wandina so distressed. For whatever reason, the evil curse had hit her harder than any of the other Sugar fairies. She looked like an inflated beach ball. Forget flying, she could hardly walk. If things continued to deteriorate, she would soon be bedridden.

Whilst there were lots of other Soul wizards in Flush Fleas, none had the foggiest idea how to deal with this grave situation. Dementia was his only hope. This curse required the assistance of an expert. Unfortunately though, by the time Weezel arrived at Dementia's home, the supreme Soul wizard and his adopted son were already on their way to the Land of the Lonely. Weezel burst into tears. His thieving, self-centred behaviour had come back to bite him on the bum.

Soul wizards' 'Travelation' spells make getting from point A to point B a lot easier than having to travel by foot, or even by flight.

You simply teleport your passengers and cargo from one location to another! However, it is the quality of the wand and the wizard's personal expertise that determine how far you can travel with each spell. Other factors include how big the travel party is and how cumbersome their luggage is. You can go a lot further in a single hit if you are travelling solo and only carrying bare essentials.

Dementia had calculated that Old Faithful would be able to safely teleport himself, Willowood and their luggage no more than 200 kilometres per spell. It would then take her the rest of the day to recover. She was still very unfit. In her heyday, she could travel over 1000 kilometres per spell and only needed a few hours rest between each journey.

For now though, wherever they landed is where they would be grounded for the rest of the day. The locations would therefore need to be well thought out. They would need to be safe, habitable, and preferably have some sources of food and drinkable liquid. He calculated that they would need to make two stops before the final stop. The first stop would be Smelter Thirteen on Barren Mountain. The second stop would be at the base of Brother Four of the Five Brothers.

He was following almost the exact same path that Majika and her companions had already taken days ago. However, whereas they had chosen to stay on the apex of Brother Five, Dementia had chosen the base of Brother Four.

He had chosen both destinations because they were fairly desolate. The fewer creatures they encountered on their way to the Land of the Lonely, the better. The climate of Smelter Thirteen was not great for sustaining wildlife and edible vegetation. They would have to rely solely on their limited rations of food that Dementia had brought from home. The base of Brother Four however, was the complete reverse when it came to wildlife and edible vegetation. His galactic food guide for Soul wizards and his galactic food guide for Elkwoodian elves both suggested that it provided a great choice of food and liquid refreshments.

Dementia got Old Faithful to assist him with his teleportation magic and then they were off. 'Damn!' shouted Skellem as Dementia and Willowood suddenly vaporized. 'I've lost them again! I must train myself to stop blinking!'

Dementia, Willowood, and Old Faithful arrived at Barren Mountain's Smelter Thirteen region a little after 2pm. The 'Old Lady' was exhausted. She had used all of her energy to get them here. Dementia gently tucked her into her casing, which was lined with Drudger silk, and then set off with Willowood to explore the mountains' unfamiliar, unforgiving terrain.

Whilst they explored Smelter Thirteen, Skellem meticulously combed every square inch of the Serene forest for Dementia and Willowood. At least Skellem had a fairly pretty backdrop. Smelter Thirteen was a truly hideous place. For as far as the eye could see, the land was parched dry and completely desolate. The dust choked their throats and made Willowood's eyes water.

Imagine Dementia's shock, therefore, when he suddenly stumbled upon an abandoned Sugar fairy leotard. The fact that the leotard was black and covered in black Zophobian crystals perplexed him even further. Sugar fairy outfits were typically pink or purple and covered in colourful crystals and sequins. This discrepancy should have been the ultimate clue as to the identity of its Sugar fairy owner. Although Dementia had only ever formally met Majika once (at the recent fairy race), she was wearing a black leotard very similar to this one at the time. This just serves to show how poor Dementia's memory had become.

As Dementia and Willowood sat around the fire and ate their limited rations, the baffled wizard wondered how a Sugar fairy outfit of any colour had managed to find its way to Barren Mountain. More importantly, he wondered who its owner was, and if she was okay.

He theorised that she had perhaps been kidnapped by a Doolan dragon, who then flew her off to Barren Mountain, stripped her of her clothing, and finally ate her. He had to dismiss the idea, though, because it did not make sense: Firstly, Doolan dragons were never known to fly as far north as Barren Mountain. Secondly, they tended to eat Sugar fairies on the spot rather than carry them away for later consumption. Thirdly, they had never been known to undress Sugar fairies before eating them. They enjoyed eating their Sugar fairies 'fully wrapped'.

This would need to remain a mystery for now. He turned his attention to his two food guides. Their rations were now almost completely finished. Willowood had eaten far more than he had anticipated. Size was not always an accurate indicator of appetite. Dementia, more than any, should have realised this. He personally consumed more on a daily basis than most Gligoony giants – creatures more than five times his size.

Dementia studied what the food guides said about the base of Brother Four given that this was tomorrow's destination. It indicated that the caves at its base contained a broad range of edible mushrooms that Elkwoodian elves are known to love. It also contained several varieties of edible roots and bulbs. Best of all, as far as Dementia was concerned, were the Rapoons, a small rat-like rodent, who roamed the open plains in abundance. They were very fast runners, but also very blind. They would continually knock themselves unconscious as they accidentally ran full-speed into rocks or fell off high ledges. Dementia had tasted them before and he thought they were absolutely delicious.

The secret to catching a Rapoon was simple. You started the process by making as loud a racket as you could so as to startle them. You then needed to watch carefully as they ran around frantically and smashed into things. You could then collect the unconscious ones in a sack and use them as and when required. 'Rapoon and Mushroom stew! Yum!' he thought.

Dementia had not bothered to repair the damage to his right hand inflicted by Old Faithful prior to leaving Flush Fleas. The right thumb was now only hanging on by a few flimsy threads. He had recently developed an irritating habit of pulling at this rubberised thumb whenever deep in thought. It stretched forwards and backwards with the flexibility of an elastic band and was really quite gross to watch. This horrible habit was driving young Willowood nuts. The young Elkwoodian was therefore very relieved when it finally gave way.

'You son of a stone-winged, Tishy _-_ gnome-faced Carbanara!' shouted Dementia at the thumb and tossed it away. The ageing wizard could really have done with some anger management sessions.

After a late sleep in, Dementia awoke Old Faithful and set her to work. They arrived at the base of Brother Four just after midday. This second leg was over 200 kilometres and exhausted the 'Old Lady' once again. Whilst she slept in her Drudger silk-lined casing, Dementia and Willowood set about the task of hunting and gathering. The first thing they did was to explore several of the low-lying caves. Each was dark and damp, a perfect breeding ground for mushrooms. He referred to the guides' detailed descriptions and pictures to determine which mushrooms could be eaten safely and which were poisonous. They soon had a basket filled to the brim with several strange looking edible varieties.

As they were walking through one of the larger caves, Dementia and Willowood noticed the most magnificent-looking mushroom that either had ever seen. It was over a metre tall and glistened with every imaginable colour. It lit up an entire corner of the otherwise dark cave. As they moved closer, the most wonderful smell penetrated their nostrils and drew them closer and closer in, until they were less than a metre from its base. They were under its spell and could not resist the urge to taste it.

In the process of breaking off a piece for him and Willowood to share, Dementia accidentally dropped the massive food guide and it came crashing down to the ground below. Fortuitously, upon impact with the ground, the book opened up on the exact page that had a picture and description of this magnificent specimen. He read the description with utter horror.

The 'Seductivillia Mushroom' lures its victims closer and closer using its magnificent colours and incredible smell as bait. The victims become more and more transfixed as they move closer and closer. Upon reaching this mushroom, the victims feel compelled to taste a chunk there and then. The victims fall dead the very moment it touches their lips. It then lives off its fallen victims' blood, flesh, and skin, until all that remains are brittle bones and clumps of hair.

Scattered around its entire base, were thousands of brittle bones and a tonne of hair. How had they failed to notice this? How had it made them that blind? This was a real wake-up call for Dementia. As he washed his and Willowood's hands rigorously under a free-flowing artesian well that they had discovered, he realised that he would need to take a lot more care from this point onwards. He had to keep reminding himself that he was no longer only responsible for his own wellbeing. Whilst he was incapable of being poisoned himself because his entire form was synthetic, he was well aware that the poison would have made easy work of young Willowood.

Now that they had the mushrooms, it was time to collect the Rapoons. Having exited the caves and entered the open plains once again, Dementia blew as loudly as he could into his beautiful hand-carved Hundoondi horn whilst Willowood screamed continuously in his high-pitched soprano voice. About a dozen frantic Rapoons suddenly appeared out of nowhere and began running around skittishly. Because they were running blindly, several bashed into rocks and fell off ledges.

Although totally unnecessary, Willowood enjoyed chasing after the few Rapoons who were still running around. His bum wiggled and his gangly knees knocked together as he ran as fast as he could. Dementia watched on proudly as his adopted son finally managed to capture one. In doing so, the young king had displayed great courage and determination.

'Gotcha!' shouted Willowood triumphantly, holding the petrified Rapoon up by its scrawny ears.

'Well done, my boy!' smiled Dementia and pumped his fist in the air.

It was nice to see a little bit of self-confidence return to the young boy's face. Willowood then used his powerful slingshot to slay another one. It only took one shot to do the job. The accuracy of the shot was unbelievable. From a distance of over 100 metres, he hit the poor Rapoon square in the temple. Dementia was most impressed with his young protégé. The boy was obviously a lot more capable of taking care of himself than Dementia had thought.

They ate their delicious bowls of 'Rapoon and Mushroom' stew that night and talked about the day's events. It was good to have something to talk about. It distracted both of their minds from the bitter memories that still haunted them. As Willowood began to drift off, Dementia stroked the boy's head and said, 'Goodnight, son.'

Willowood replied, 'Goodnight, dad.'

It was the first time that Willowood had referred to him as 'dad'. This was a huge breakthrough. Dementia was very touched by this and had his first night of peaceful sleep in days. Traizon did not appear in his dreams even once this night.

Dementia and Willowood were awoken by the sound of loud, rapidly approaching footsteps. It sounded like only one pair of feet. However, based on the loud thumping reverberations, both suspected that it was probably something large and heavy, and in a definite hurry. Before Dementia could move himself and Willowood to safety, the thing was upon them.

The moment this thing spotted Dementia and Willowood, its head dropped into its chest cavity, its arms started to swing wildly, and it started to shriek like a banshee. As it thrashed around aimlessly, a small furry creature clung desperately to its thick curly chest hair, whilst a thin, lanky creature that was covered in blue scales, spun around helplessly on its broad shoulders.

It took a huge amount of persuasion and reassurance from Dementia before Sked finally raised his head above shoulder level. Sked urgently explained the circumstances surrounding their current haste. Their Riboltian pursuers were only about two kilometres away and were closing quickly. Sked had spotted them from a vantage point about ten kilometres further down the track. He informed Dementia that it looked as if there were about 50 Riboltians, all bent on destruction.

It would have been a lot easier for Dementia to turn his back on Sked and his companions. One quick wave of Old Faithful and he and Willowood would be in the Land of the Lonely. However, this was not his style. He could not turn his back on those in need of help. This was perhaps his greatest strength as well as his greatest weakness. Unfortunately, Old Faithful did not have enough strength to teleport them all to safety. Life would have been a lot easier if she did.

'I will help you!' smiled Dementia. 'But you must stop running. We must face up to this adversary. They may outnumber us ten to one. But I have magic, and magic is much more powerful than brute strength.'

As the 50 Riboltian foot soldiers rounded the corner, they were greeted by an elderly-looking blue-coloured Soul wizard with long, flowing white hair and matching beard. At his side stood a stout young boy with luminous-green hair, the cheeks of a blowfish, and pointy ears. Behind them were the familiar faces of Sked and Flufiel. Resting on the floor further back lay a prostrate, deep-breathing Hildegard. Despite looking more like a circus freak show than an army, Dementia issued an ultimatum to the Riboltians. 'Return to Riboltia right now or suffer the consequences!' he shouted. Whilst most of the Riboltians burst into fits of laughter, Murder's face turned blood-red with anger. 'How dare you threaten us, old wizard!' he screamed. 'For this, you and your motley crew will die slow and painful deaths.' He gave the command and his foot soldiers started running forward with their battens raised and at the ready. As they approached, Dementia waved Old Faithful high into the air and started his chant.

Forces of good to whom we pray

We ask for your help on this important day

Make those with good hearts brave and energetic

And those with bad hearts weak and pathetic

Hildegard's reinvigorated body rose from the ground as a rush of sudden energy flowed through her. She felt no pain or fear whatsoever. She ran forward in her 'puppet on a string style', jumped up and hit out at a Riboltian with all her might. Her scaly left hand crunched powerfully into its flat cartilage-filled nose. The Riboltian crumbled to the floor and assumed the fetal position. 'She broke my nose!' he cried pathetically as a steady flow of blood trickled down his lips and chin. 'I want my mummy!'

Flufiel bit another Riboltian on the ankle with all the might that his razor-sharp teeth could muster. The Riboltian screamed out in agony and hopped around gawkily on only one foot. Dementia then slapped Murda across the face with Old Faithful. Murda's cries of agony caused the remaining Riboltians to retract their heads and start begging for mercy.

'Leave now!' shouted Dementia. The Riboltians gratefully started their hasty retreat, their heads protruding no higher than eye level. They were defeated and shell-shocked. They headed straight for home, not daring to even turn their heads once towards the direction of Brother Four.

Being the cowards and liars that they were, the pathetic group returned to Riboltia triumphantly a few days later, telling heroic stories of how they had captured Sked, Flufiel, and Hildegard, and then slowly tortured them to death.

The sudden burst of energy that Hildegard had utilized was now taking its toll on our broad-bean shaped heroine. She could hardly move and her breathing was severely laboured. Dementia kindly offered to teleport her with himself and Willowood to the Land of the Lonely. He was confident that Old Faithful would be able to summon the energy required to deal with this extra load. They would all be reunited soon anyway in the Land of the Lonely. Sked and Flufiel gratefully accepted this offer and bid Hildegard and the others farewell.

After one quick stroke of Old Faithful and a few special words, Dementia found himself standing with Hildegard slung across his open arms and Willowood by his side in a huge puddle of blood – in the Land of the Lonely's famous meat market.

### CHAPTER 13

### NEURO'S NEW FRIEND, TRAIZON

Traizon had watched the rapid rise of Neuro and then his monumental fall into relative obscurity with great interest. He had never come across such an arrogant, pompous, self-obsessed, power-hungry freak in his entire life – save for himself of course. He would be the perfect creature to manipulate into doing all his dirty-work. All he would have to do is massage this vulnerable megalomaniac's massive ego by telling him how _special_ he was. 'Neuro!' thundered Traizon.

'Who are you? Where are you hiding? How do you know my name?' screamed Neuro. The spooked Sethonian frantically scuttled around in his metal walking frame, pushing buttons on his vast array of gadgets designed to detect the presence of any intruders. He could not understand why all of these machines were failing to register anything unusual. The answer was quite simple: A Soul wizard's soul cannot be detected by anything or anyone other than by another Soul wizard. Their souls carry no colour waves, no soundwaves, no thermal heat, and no particle vibrations.

In desperation, Neuro used his gradually emerging telekinetic skills to move objects around the room using nothing more than intense concentration. Sophisticated looking hard drives, monitors and keyboards went hurtling in all directions and smashed into the surrounding walls with the intensity of an angry poltergeist. He hoped that the law of averages would result in at least one object making contact with this invisible foe.

'No need to be so hostile.' said Traizon calmly. 'I am your friend, not your enemy. Like you, I am also a chosen one!'

The words 'chosen one' were like music to Neuro's elasticised ears. Despite still feeling somewhat vulnerable, he listened intently as Traizon continued his lecture.

'Like me, you have a greater calling in life.' continued Traizon. 'You have been selected by our Dark Lord to be a ruler of creatures, a king amongst kings, a....'

After an hour of deep discussion – or should I say brainwashing – Neuro appeared to be a devoted servant of the Dark Side and Traizon's loyal lackey. At least, this is what Traizon thought.

Traizon had no idea that Neuro was in fact bluffng. In truth, the brainwashing session had failed dismally because Neuro's impressive brain had protected itself by producing thousands of alpha and beta brain waves that created static interference and kept it level-headed.

Neuro was simply playing along. Once he had done his apprenticeship and learnt the ropes, he planned to destroy Traizon and assume number one position. Because Traizon was so certain of Neuro's loyalty, he agreed to Neuro's request that he now reveal himself in a visible form. Traizon's soul quickly flew into the enormous twelve-metre-high, dark red ogre constructed out of Bend rubber that was concealed in a deep crater about a kilometre away.

Traizon had painstakingly fashioned this beastly looking form from five enormous blobs of Bend rubber and an entire litre of Bleeding Bobbins blood. Although it had taken him several hours to create, the end result was worth it. He knew only too well that Neuro was a shallow creature, likely to also judge his credibility on the basis of physical presence. Neuro was more likely to take orders from a twelve-metre high ogre than a small, unassuming Flexan bird.

Traizon's assumption was wrong! Firstly, Neuro in fact thought that Traizon looked like a ridiculous mishmash of badly crafted play dough. Secondly, Neuro only judged other creatures based on their intellect. He grouped all creatures other than himself into slightly dumb, very dumb, and extremely dumb. The jury was still out on whether Traizon was very dumb or extremely dumb.

His impressive level of evilness was certainly not matched by his intellect. For if Traizon was even remotely intelligent, he would have already picked up that Neuro had on his best poker face and was bluffing. After all, creatures as egotistical as Neuro only served their own needs. Favours that they did for others were merely a means to an end.

Traizon's ogre form effortlessly picked Neuro up and gave him a huge hug. 'Welcome to the family son!' he smiled, but then struggled to keep this facial expression as the revolting smell of Neuro's unwashed skin wafted upwards and assaulted his synthetic olfactory centre.

'How patronising!' thought Neuro as he smiled up at Traizon's fiery red eyes through clenched teeth. 'You are not my father, and I am certainly not part of your pathetic family, Mr Blubber Guts!' It was just as well that Traizon could not read Neuro's thoughts. If he had been able to, he would have throttled Neuro there and then.

Traizon set about briefing Neuro in relation to his first mission. He started off by gloating about how he had destroyed the entire Elkwoodian elf population and then went on to explain how he was also causing the slow and painful demise of the Flush Fleas Sugar fairies.

'You see,' he explained, 'every successful evil act makes us stronger and our enemies weaker. Soon, we chosen few will rule the galaxy!'

'Yes, I will!' smiled Neuro to himself.

Traizon's first mission for Neuro would be to destroy Dementia. It would be little more than a revenge killing. The old coot posed no real threat; he was a 'has been'. He only got lucky with his magic on the occasion that he managed to set Traizon's favourite Flexan bird's head alight. In addition to receiving an enormous fright, Traizon was also forced to throw away this frizzled bird and capture a new one.

He resented having to go through the tedious and time-consuming process of training the newly captured one to become compliant with his need to possess it from time to time. The new one turned out to be extremely stubborn and needed to have its head submerged under water hundreds of times before he finally broke its spirit. It hated being caged when not in use and squawked day and night.

The whole ordeal had left Traizon feeling angry, frustrated and incredibly moody. On several occasions, when the incessant squawking drove him crazy, he threatened to fly it head-first into a solid stone wall. His ego still felt aggrieved every time he thought about it. It still had an axe to grind. Hopefully his new Sethonian lackey would even the score for him.

Neuro swore not to return from the Land of the Lonely until he had destroyed Dementia. Traizon insisted that Neuro return to him with proof of the deed. He wanted to be presented with Dementia's memorial diamond.

The only way to destroy a Soul wizard is to destroy its soul. And the only way to destroy its soul is by capturing the memorial diamond that lives within its soul and powers it. You may wish to think of these memorial diamonds as being equivalent to their souls' hearts. The moment their memorial diamond is captured, their soul goes up in a puff of smoke and disappears completely. If you look into the depths of the memorial diamond, you will see a holographic image of its dead master's face.

All Soul wizards have the memorial diamonds of their great ancestors mounted into rings. In this way, they can have their ancestors close to them at all times. It is not uncommon for Soul wizards who come from the more established bloodlines, to have memorial diamond rings on all ten fingers. Many Soul wizards genuinely believe that having their ancestors with them enhances their magical powers and brings them good luck.

Traizon explained to Neuro that killing a Soul wizard is not as easy as stabbing them through the heart or cutting off their heads. He explained that their synthetic rubber forms are simply used for visible identification purposes. If you opened them up, you would discover no bones and no vital organs. All you would see is a sophisticated digestive system. However, this digestive system in no way supported life. Rather, it allowed them to enjoy a broad range of gastronomic delights. It was their soul's memorial diamond that powered the whole operation. So if you wanted to kill a Soul wizard, you needed to remove its memorial diamond.

'Given that Dementia's soul is invisible, how do I find his memorial diamond, and how do I retrieve it?' asked Neuro impatiently.

### CHAPTER 14

### THE ALLIANCE

Dementia and Willowood soon realised that the puddle of blood that they were standing in, was in fact a continuous stream of blood. It was supplied with its constant flow by the thousands of dead, rotting carcasses that hung from hooks and bled out. The rotting meat and congealing blood attracted millions of greedy Murd flies.

Murd flies are about three times larger your average domestic Earth fly and about twice as noisy. They have sharp teeth and pack quite a nasty bite. They spread hideous diseases as they moved from one carcass to another. Collectively, they made a high pitched droning sound that pierced deep into the eardrums and left one's ears ringing.

The mix of dry heat, rotting meat, congealing blood, and droning Murd flies was more than Dementia could take. It filled his soul with sadness and despair. Willowood was having similar reservations. He would rather starve than ever set foot in this land's infamous meat market again.

It was not so easy to leave, though. Hundreds of desperate stallholders used charm, intimidation, and brute force to persuade Dementia and Willowood into purchasing their cuts of meat. It was a race against time for all of them. In only a few hours' time, the ravenous Murd flies would have completely demolished all the meat, and the stallholders would go home penniless.

Making matters worse, was the fact that these revolting flies were flourishing in this meat-rich environment and multiplying at an alarming rate. Every day, their numbers seemed to increase twofold and the meat would be polished off even quicker. This made the stallholders more and more desperate. It was a dangerous downward spiral.

Dementia's first mission would be to cull these flies completely. But for now, his attention was focused solely on getting himself, Hildegard and Willowood out of this 'hell hole' in one piece. They finally made their way past the last of the frustrated stallholders that blocked their passage. Willowood's delicate skin was now severely bruised and battered. Dementia's synthetic skin was scuffed and torn. Poor Hildegard looked like a broken helix-shaped slinky.

They made their way down a narrow road that led to a shanty town. Every flimsy building appeared to be made out of left-over scraps. Not a single tree or plant could be seen. Not even a blade of grass dared to raise its head. With nothing to anchor the soil, dry sand blew around and painfully whipped their skin. Rodent-like creatures scampered around brazenly between piles of abandoned garbage and puddles of raw sewer. The smell was even worse than that of the meat markets congealing blood.

Along the way, they were constantly harassed by swarms of filthy dirty, undernourished children. The children grabbed at them desperately, begging for food and water. Dementia's soul burned with sadness as he was forced to callously swat them away. Many were younger than Willowood. This was no way for children to live. He would need to sort out this sad state of affairs as well.

His soul gained an enormous boost of positive energy as he saw a very overweight-looking Sugar fairy approaching him from a distance. She was screaming his name excitedly as she waddled her way towards him. By now, she was too heavy to hop and skip. His excitement turned to anger as he suddenly noticed that a massive Doolan dragon was sneaking up behind her. It appeared to have a large lump on its head.

Dementia grabbed hold of Old Faithful and then threw her high into the air. As she came somersaulting back downwards, he started to recite his 'Sleep-Bake' spell.

Doolan dragon from the South

Shut your eyes and close your mouth

Go to sleep and do not wake

Until such time as the first breads bake

Poor Frother collapsed in a heap. He was fast asleep. Hairy furiously launched himself off his fallen friend's head, and ran as fast as his 30 limbs would allow towards Dementia with a mix of grief and murder in his eyes. Majika was astonished by the speed, courage and outright stupidity that Hairy was displaying. It was strongly advisable to never charge a Soul wizard who had their wand drawn, especially not a supreme Soul wizard of Dementia's reputation.

'Pwepare to die, you howwible, howwible... thtupid... blue-thkinned _withard_!' screamed Hairy. 'Nobody dethtwoys my very betht fwiend and getth away with it!'

Dementia raised Old Faithful again and began another chant. 'Stop, Hairy! Stop, Dementia!' screamed Majika.

Hairy slammed on breaks and Dementia stopped his chant mid-sentence. She frantically tried to explain to Dementia that Hairy and Frother were friends of hers, whilst at the same time trying to convince Hairy that Dementia was in fact a kind, well-respected Soul wizard.

Dementia assured Majika and Hairy that Frother had not been harmed. He was merely sleeping and would awake in the morning when the first breads started to bake. This concerned Majika and she asked Dementia if he could please reverse the spell. Unfortunately, this particular spell was irreversible and had to run its course. She knew that if Frother was left out in the open over night, totally defenceless, he would appear on several meat hooks at the meat market the next morning.

There was only one thing to do under the circumstances. The companions groaned and huffed and puffed, as they dragged Frother's huge sleeping body to safety, using his enormous tail for leverage. Millimetre by millimetre, they edged him closer and closer to the 'Friendly Territory'. The 'Friendly Territory' was so named because it was a place where all of those who were honest, decent and law-abiding took refuge. If you chose to leave this safe-haven, you did so at your own risk. Nobody would come to your rescue if you were suddenly attacked – and more likely than not, you would be attacked!

It was like stepping into a new world as they crossed over into the 'Friendly Territory'. Solid brick houses were surrounded by pretty, well-manicured gardens. Each house had a healthy-looking vegetable patch and a variety of blossoming fruit trees. Happy, well-nourished children played ball games and catch in the streets. They smiled and laughed, oblivious to the horror that lurked only kilometres away.

Teams of these good citizens took turns standing guard, all day and all night. There was no fencing or protective shields to prevent entry. So those on guard had to be extremely vigilant, especially at night, when it was almost always pitch dark. The stars shone very dimly at night because they were heavily masked by the plumes of thick smoke that rose up from the hundreds of bonfires that burned relentlessly in the shanty town. It was the Unfriendlies' way of keeping themselves warm at night.

From time to time, a few Unfriendlies would manage to sneak through unnoticed, and the good citizens would be left to mourn the loss of yet more of their fallen comrades. Dementia realised that this was no way to live. He vowed to change this place, even if it meant sacrificing his own life in the process. Having left Hildegard in the safe hands of one of the Friendlies' most respected doctors, Dementia and Willowood settled down for a well-earned rest. Both fell into a deep sleep only moments after shutting their eyes. Instead of having a peaceful, rejuvenating sleep, Dementia had a terrible nightmare. In it, Traizon suddenly appeared in front of him carrying a huge barrel that was filled to the brim with the ashes of the deceased Elkwoodians.

'I am missing one last bit of ash!' he laughed. 'I have come to get it'. Traizon was, of course, referring to Willowood. Dementia tried with all his might to attack Traizon and defend Willowood, but for some reason he was totally paralysed. He could not even move a single finger. He watched in horror as Traizon grabbed Willowood by the hand and casually walked off with him.

'Willowood!' screamed the sleeping Dementia. 'Willowood!' Willowood awoke with a huge fright and rushed to Dementia's side. The ageing wizard's entire body was convulsing as if he were having an epileptic fit, and his eyeballs were shooting forwards and backwards under their closed rubber eyelids. Willowood tried everything possible to wake Dementia from this awful nightmare but not even prodding him with a sharp stick managed to release him from its powerful grasp. He was eventually forced to pour a cold bucket of water over Dementia's head. Dementia awoke with an expression of severe shock on his face and looked around frantically for Willowood.

'It's okay, Dementia!' cried Willowood. 'I am right here!' Dementia pulled the Elkwoodian elf towards him by his broad shoulders and gave the boy an enormous hug. Although it had only been a dream, Soul wizards' dreams often served to warn them of impending doom. Dementia was too afraid to go back to sleep for fear of having this same dream again. Instead, he decided to venture alone beyond the boundaries of the 'Friendly Territory'.

He was not overly concerned about doing this because Soul wizards of his ability are almost indestructible. The risk was fairly minimal. He watched with despair as creatures fought to the death over rotting scraps of food. He was stabbed in the back several times. His attackers ran for dear life as he continued forward, without even flinching.

He then came across a huge mob of Unfriendlies who were rejoicing loudly. They had formed a tight circle around their vanquished prey and they were mercilessly taunting it. Dementia pushed himself through the crowd and entered the centre of the circle. Cowering on the floor like a trapped rat was a creature he had seen earlier today. It was one of the Friendlies: a middle-aged adult male named Wertheimer. He appeared fairly human, save for the fact that his head was attached to his left shoulder and his bum was attached to his right shoulder. And no, his nickname was not 'Fart Face'.

Wertheimer had been happily walking the streets of the friendly territory earlier today, with his three chubby kids trailing merrily behind him. How his fortunes had turned within the space of a few hours.

The crowd of Unfriendlies could not believe their luck. Another Friendlie had seemingly surrendered himself to them. Why else would a Friendlie be foolish enough to enter a circle of death? Two Friendlies meant twice the entertainment. The beatings would last longer and could be shared around more equally.

Dementia shielded Wertheimer as best as he could. The punches and kicks and stabs had no impact on him. It was only when one of them tried to grab Old Faithful that Dementia became really angry. He waved the old lady around as if she were a powerful lightsaber, and screams of pain filled the air as hundreds of Unfriendlies were branded by its boiling-hot tip. The crowd slowly dissipated. Eventually, all that remained were Dementia and Wertheimer.

Dementia helped Wertheimer to his feet and guided him back to the 'Friendly Territory'. Wertheimer was hugely grateful to Dementia and promised to one day return the favour. 'You can start by not farting in my face!' thought Dementia childishly as he watched Wertheimer's bum line him up as a potential target.

As morning broke, the waft of baking bread filled the air of the 'Friendly Territory'. Frother suddenly awoke from his deep sleep with short-term amnesia. He could not recall the past 24 hours. However, as Dementia approached him, things started to come flooding back. He flew up into the air and then came swooping down towards Dementia. Majika once again came to the rescue just in the nick of time. She managed to stop Frother moments before he pulverised Dementia into the ground. Dementia would have been helpless to defend himself because he had accidentally left his wand next to his bed.

After enjoying a few pieces of delicious, freshly sliced bread, Dementia and his companions roamed the territory of the Unfriendlies totally unopposed. Every time an Unfriendlie spotted Dementia, he or she would scurry away like a sewer rat and desperately seek cover. The word had obviously spread quickly. A great Soul wizard, loyal to the Friendlies, was now in town. That night, no Friendlies were abducted.

However, things were about to change!

### CHAPTER 15

### NEURO'S ARRIVAL

As the sun rose, Neuro announced his entry into the Land of the Lonely in dramatic style. A group of bewildered Unfriendlies watched in awe as he slowly descended from the sky like a perfectly balanced helicopter. They were absolutely amazed. How could this creature fly? It had no wings and it had no wand. It was strapped to a strange metal walker, but the contraption did not have a single engine or booster jet. If anything, it made the feat of flying even more miraculous. They were all very frightened and kept their distance.

One Unfriendlie finally summoned the courage to ask Neuro how he managed to fly without wings or a wand.

'Let's just say that I've whipped evolutions arse!' he smiled arrogantly and let out an enormous fart for good measure. This had become his favourite saying. He totally ignored the fact that evolution had fought back fiercely, stripping him of every last toe and restricting him to walking around gingerly on toeless stumps. If evolution could speak, it would have said, 'You chose to defy me by taking to the sky against my specific design parameters for your species. If you don't wish to walk, you don't deserve toes!'

To add to the atmosphere of awe, Neuro then started to move animate and inanimate objects around using nothing other than the power of his mind. First, he caused a few large pieces of scrap metal from the roofs of a few nearby shacks to start spinning around frantically. Several Unfriendlies narrowly avoided being decapitated. He then caused two Unfriendlies to suddenly start floating upwards into the air. They begged for mercy as he suddenly made them do 180-degree rotations so that their heads were now facing the ground. Almost effortlessly, he returned them both to the ground feet-first. The crowd cheered loudly.

Neuro bathed in the acknowledgment. His eyes sparkled and his head tingled. He was finally getting the attention and recognition that he had wanted so badly and believed he deserved. It was for this very reason that Traizon had targeted Neuro in the first place. You see, all cult leaders have an overwhelming desire to be acknowledged as being great and important. Give them the positive strokes they desire and you are well on the way towards creating the monster of your dreams.

Having gained everyone's attention, Neuro arrogantly advised that he was the 'Chosen One', who had been sent to save them from the recently arrived Soul wizard and to help them destroy the Friendlies. As he continued to speak, the crowd hung onto his every word. Their eyes burned brightly and their mouths began to salivate. The crowd grew larger and larger as word of this great saviour spread like wildfire. Soon, every single Unfriendlie was his captive audience and willing servant.

'Hail Neuro!' they screamed loudly. The chant was so loud that it could be heard clearly by all the Friendlies kilometres away. Droves of Unfriendlies bowed down and kissed Neuro's smelly toeless stumps. At least the disgusting toe-jam that used to breed between each toe was no longer an issue. Even the sulphur-smelling, mushroom-like fungus that still sprouted in clumps from the sides and base of the stump, did nothing to dampen their spirits.

Many stepped forward bearing their worldly possessions as gifts. Starving children sang out words of worship and handed him whatever scraps of food they were able to muster. The revolting mucous that continually dripped from his nostrils was treated like holy water. Unfriendlies fought for its possession.

Even the repugnant fumes from his continuous farts were cupped and capped.

'Who is this Neuro?' asked Dementia.

He would find out soon enough because Neuro was already organising his troops into lethal squadrons and explaining the plan of attack to them in detail. They would attack from all directions, by cover of darkness.

Neuro opened his satchel and took out a sealed vial that contained a very powerful dose of a new vaporous potion that Traizon had recently created. The potion was designed to attack Soul wizards' wands and render them useless. The affected wizards' wands would go into a deep sleep that they could not be awoken from. All Neuro needed to do was to remove the cap from the vial. The potion would then make its own way to Old Faithful.

This powerful 'Deep Sleep' potion was not the only parting gift Traizon gave Neuro. He was also given a huge bag of volcanic rocks that Traizon had handpicked from the continually erupting Angry Mountain. The rocks would soon become very useful to Neuro.

At precisely 5am, under the command of their great new leader, the Unfriendlies attacked. Armed with flaming torches, they rampaged through the Friendlies' territory, setting ablaze everyone and everything in their path. An elite squad consisting of the smartest and strongest Unfriendlies ambushed Dementia and his crew.

Frother swung his tail furiously as an enormous net was hoisted over the rest of his body and head. Before he could take flight, the net was secured tightly to the ground using massive metal pegs driven deep into the soil by powerful sledgehammers. Despite being grounded, he still managed to kill at least ten Unfriendlies with powerful blows from his unsecured tail. However, they managed to eventually overwhelm him by sheer weight of numbers. A second net was used to finally secure his tail.

Dementia tried desperately to awaken Old Faithful. He wanted to use her magic to release Frother from these nets and repel the attackers. Despite numerous attempts to awake her, she could not be stirred from the deep sleep that now overwhelmed her. Without his wand, Dementia was little more than a defenceless old wizard.

Majika was able to use her unaffected fairy wand but her magic was very basic. She now regretted not concentrating during the weekly wand lessons at Sugar fairy school. The best she could manage was to make a few Unfriendlies trip over their own feet and to cause two Unfriendlies to suddenly become overwhelmed by an intense desire to scratch under their armpits.

Hairy tried to inflict a few poisonous bites on the enemy. However, because he had no teeth he could not pierce their skin. Instead, the poison that flowed from his gums simply moistened their scruffy outfits at the point of contact. One of the Unfriendlies grabbed him by several of his furry limbs and kept pulling until his lips finally succumbed to the tug-of-war and lost their vacuum-tight grip on his leg.

In no time at all, the Friendlies surrendered and their leaders were caged. The cages were made of a very strong, reinforced metal. Not even Frother was able to bend these bars. Things were looking very grim. The prisoners were paraded triumphantly through the shanty town streets, with Neuro leading the parade. As he hovered down each street, the crowds of Unfriendlies chanted his name loudly. They threw stones and whatever else they could find at the cages that now entrapped their enemies.

Neuro led the procession all the way to the smouldering fire pit that had already been prepared in anticipation of a great victory. The leaders of the Friendlies were going to be burned to death.

Dementia felt a small amount of hope enter his soul when he noticed the flames. Fire may consume his synthetic flesh, but it would not consume his soul. Taken for dead, he would have the element of surprise on his side. His soul would literally rise like a phoenix from the ashes.

Unfortunately, he was not aware that this was no ordinary fire.

It was fuelled by the volcanic rocks of Angry Mountain. These particular rocks made the fire hotter than the hottest of furnaces. It was the exact heat required to make a Soul wizard's soul glow bright enough for you to see it and its memorial diamond. The intense heat also stunned their souls momentarily. This allowed one sufficient time to reach in and steal their memorial diamonds. Once this was done, the wizard and its wand would go up in a puff of smoke, never to be seen again. It was really touching that a Soul wizard's wand died when its owner died.

Dementia looked around at his nervous companions. All 30 of Hairy's limbs were shaking like jelly. Majika was fidgeting nervously with her silky black hair whilst Frother blew hot steam through his nostrils. Most disturbing, though, was the look in Willowood's turquoise eyes. It was a look of bitter disappointment and failure. He so desperately wanted to avenge the deaths of his entire tribe but was now destined to die before even getting to stand before Traizon. It was the thought of this premature failure, rather than the painful death itself, that plagued Willowood's mind.

Dementia squeezed the young Elkwoodian's hand reassuringly. The poor kid had already been through so much. Surely, he deserved a break. Dementia desperately regretted dragging him from the safety of Flush Fleas.

In an effort to unsettle Neuro and manipulate his thinking, Dementia started to deliberately taunt the 'dome head'. He needed to make sure that he would be the first to be burned. It would be a disaster if the others were to be burned before he could assist them.

'What's it like to be Traizon's little puppet?' smiled Dementia. 'I am not Traizon's puppet!' exploded Neuro and angrily tried to extricate a stubborn piece of dry snot from his left nostril. 'He considers me an equal. Besides, he will soon be _my_ puppet!'

Dementia had at least confirmed that Neuro was connected to Traizon. This information could prove to be important for future reference, provided he survived his current predicament of course.

'Please!' replied Dementia in a tone designed to inflame the ego maniac. 'You are nowhere near his equal. You don't have a stitch of his magical prowess! You are just a pathetic wannabe!'

'Is that so!' screamed Neuro. 'Then how is it that I can float like this?'

Neuro began his ascent into the air to prove his point. However, his mind was so clouded with rage, that it lacked the focus required to keep the hover going. It is difficult to say whether it was Neuro or his ego that hit the ground harder.

'It's a real shame that you haven't mastered landing yet!' laughed Dementia mockingly.

'Take him out of his cage immediately and hang him up to burn!' screamed Neuro as he frantically disentangled his head from the mangled metal walker frame. The ferocity of his scream caused a vein in his wide-open, motionless right eye to haemorrhage. A tiny trickle of blood rolled down his cheek.

Neuro also screamed out for two Unfriendlies to help him to his feet. The two volunteers had no idea that he intended to use their heads as crutches. Both freaked out as over a thousand different varieties of lice and fleas that resided in Neuro's Rastafarian armpit hairs migrated to their thick heads of hair.

'Stop being such cry babies!' shouted Neuro. 'They don't bite. And itchiness is simply mind over matter stuff!'

Dementia was dragged from his cage and hoisted into the air. He was now suspended teasingly close to the raging flames below. He only needed to be lowered another half metre and his synthetic form would start to melt. As Dementia dangled precariously, Neuro began to verbally abuse this great wizard and his companions.

'What a useless bunch you all are!' he laughed and then belched. 'Who ever heard of a wizard whose wand doesn't work, a fairy who is too fat to fly, a dragon who only blows steam, a toothless spider whose poisonous bite has no effect, and a young elf boy who has no powers at all... trying to take on _me_ , The Chosen One!... Lower him now!... Burn in hell, Dementia!'

All of Dementia's companions wept uncontrollably as the flames reduced his form to what looked like a stream of blue molten lava. Despite glowing like a red-hot coal, Old Faithful kept her exact shape and form. The normally docile Frother felt an intense anger well up inside of him, the likes of which he had never experienced before.

Dementia cried in agony and despair as his soul started to glow an increasingly brighter shade of purple. Suddenly, two twinkling memorial diamonds appeared in the centre.

'Why are there two memorial diamonds?' thought Neuro with a look of puzzlement on his face. Traizon had only made reference to there being one.

'Why have I got two memorial diamonds?' thought Dementia. He was even more bewildered and confused by this discovery than Neuro.

Neuro was unperturbed by this minor detail though. He would simply retrieve both memorial diamonds. Two for the price of one! He would give one to Traizon and keep the other for himself. What an imbecile Traizon had been to expose his own personal weakness through Dementia, a fellow Soul wizard, who therefore shared the identical operating system.

He would enjoy burning Traizon at the stake using exactly the same volcanic rocks and then retrieving _his_ memorial diamond as well. He would enjoy storing Dementia's memorial diamond under one of his smelly armpits and Traizon's under the other. He suddenly thought of an even more disgusting spot and burst out with laughter while moving towards Dementia's glowing soul. He casually put on a special fire-retardant glove then reached deep into Dementia's soul to retrieve the memorial diamonds.

Moments before he managed to get to these sparkling prizes, a huge roar shook the ground as an enormous flame burst out of Frother's mouth. The intensity of the heat burned Neuro, his henchmen and his hench-crutches to dust and caused Dementia's soul to glow even brighter. Frother then proceeded to shoot flames at the hundreds of other Unfriendlies who had come to see the show. All were burned to a frizzle.

Frother had finally regained his flames. The extreme anger that he felt had obviously sparked something deep within him that had lay dormant for so many years.

The only Unfriendlies to survive were the children. They had fortunately not been allowed to watch the show. Dementia's glowing soul made its way out of the flames and into a nearby bucket of water. The water sizzled loudly as the intense heat caused a ball of steam to ascend. Having now cooled down sufficiently and lost its glow, Dementia's soul then entered the body of an inquisitive rodent-like creature, known as a Fleckie, which had emerged from its underground burrow to investigate the cause of the commotion.

Dementia's Fleckie form then sifted through Neuro's pile of ash for the keys to the cages. Unfortunately, every last key had been molten beyond description. Frother came to the rescue and burnt away all the cages' enormous locks with the precision of a skilled spot-welder. All were so happy and grateful to be free again, and each member of the group congratulated and thanked Frother for saving their lives.

'Oh sh-sh-sh-sh-shucks... Th-Th-Thanks... It's a pl-pl-pl-pl-pleasure!' blushed Frother shyly. He was not used to being the hero. 'N-N-Now l-lets st-st-stop the k- ker-kerfuffe and con-con-concentrate on res-rescuing th-th-the other Fr-Fr-Friendlies!'

The companions then set off in haste for the stronghold where the Friendlies were being held. Dementia found it weird running with his eyes so close to the ground. He hoped that he wouldn't accidentally get trampled upon and become Fleckie paste. He had to concentrate deeply in order to override the stubborn little Fleckie's conflicting desires. It clearly wanted to return to the safety of its burrow. He felt guilty taking over control of this innocent creature. He knew it was wrong and would release it from his grasp as soon as was practicable.

He prayed that no harm had come to any of the Friendlies. He hoped that Neuro had planned to deal with them after the main event rather than before. As they approached the stronghold, they heard desperate cries from thousands of Friendlies to set them free. The noise was like music to Dementia's ears. The doors to the stronghold were secured with huge metallic locks and bolts. Frother's powerful flames burned through these like butter. They set all of the captives free and the celebrations began almost immediately.

Whilst the others partied, Dementia started the process of creating a new form. Fortunately, one of the spare robes that he had brought along had a small ball of undyed Bend rubber in it. He kept a small ball of undyed Bend rubber the size of a tennis ball in each of his robes pockets for just such occasions. His Fleckie form then struggled to lift Old Faithful into the air and wave her from side to side. In the end, it managed to achieve this and the ball of rubber gradually shaped itself into a bald, beardless, white-coloured miniature replica of the Soul wizard. Dementia's soul then exited the Fleckie and entered its new form. The Fleckie was relieved to be free and dashed off at great pace.

Hairy quickly spun a new set of threads to fit Dementia's miniature form. His emerging fashion designer skills came to the fore yet again. The new robe had a matching belt and hood. Hairy had discovered that the he could produce reddish-coloured webbing by chomping on a Sugar Fruit whilst producing the webs. He thought the red colour scheme blended in very nicely with Dementia's white skin tone.

Fully clad once again, the dinky sized Dementia went in search of the Unfriendlies' children. They were scattered all over the shanty town and hiding for their lives. It would take hours, possibly days, for Dementia to track down every child – especially considering how slowly his miniature form covered ground. He hoped that Old Faithful had recovered from her deep sleep and could assist him in this regard. With great effort, he raised her in the air and chanted in the most peaceful of voices.

Children who now do hide

Make your way to Dementia's side

Wipe away all your tears

You no longer need to live in fear

Say goodbye to all the bad

Say hello to your new dad

Old Faithful had regained her powers. The intense heat of the flames had obviously destroyed Traizon's 'Deep Sleep' potion. Dementia felt an overwhelming urge to cry as his new children emerged from their hiding places and moved towards their miniature dad. The ageing wizard was becoming a real softie and would seriously need to consider creating synthetic tear ducts on the next prototype – after all, a good cry can be just as satisfying as a good meal.

He would open an orphanage in the Land of the Lonely for any displaced children who arrived here alone. He would be dad to every single child that wanted his love. He already had 70 enrolments and would need to get cracking on the orphanage's construction.

As Dementia slowly walked back through the territory of the Friendlies with these children in tow, the Friendlies greeted these youngsters with warm, open arms. After all, most children were not born evil. It was their environment that made them this way. With sufficient love and guidance, they would all turn out to be good citizens.

It turns out that 'Fart Face', I mean Wertheimer, owned a construction company that had been responsible for building almost every single house in the Friendlies' territory. He was a master builder and offered to build the new orphanage for Dementia absolutely free of charge. He had promised to return the favour on the night that Dementia had saved his life. He was delighted that he now had the chance to act on that promise so quickly. Hundreds of volunteers offered their labour and expertise free of charge.

As the sun rose the next morning, construction began on the now famous Orphanage of Love in the Land of the Lonely. Every bit of brick and mortar was put together with love and goodwill. They worked day and night until it was complete. When it was finally finished, Dementia shielded its inside and outside from evil with a 'Protective' spell. The air was filled with optimism and hope.

Unlike most orphanages, this one was brightly coloured and built specifically to children's tastes. You could choose to either walk up and down stairs to get from one floor to another, or take a slippery slide down and an extremely bouncy trampoline up. Instead of a number of baths and showers, there was one huge internal swimming pool. Thanks to Dementia's magic, the water remained extremely hygienic all the time, irrespective of how dirty the orphans were. It washed away their dirt as they splashed around and did dive-bombs. Willowood loved having children his own age to play with. He felt like he now had 70 siblings. Dementia was very pleased. His soul rested easy for the moment.

Not all was perfect in the greater universe, though. The Sugar fairies of Flush Fleas continued to balloon outwards. Despite now being on a near starvation diet, Majika continued to stack on weight. She could hardly walk now. It was only a question of time before she would be bedridden. The Riboltians continued to abuse the Coolaboohs and Lentinas. Even the 50 foot soldiers who had fled like frightened little children acted like big shots again. Perhaps most disturbing was the fact that Traizon was still alive. He was licking his wounds over Neuro's defeat and plotting revenge.

Dementia spent hours every day, trying to counteract the spell that was causing Majika so much hardship. With each failure, Majika sank deeper and deeper into depression. Her crystal blue eyes lost their shimmer and her beautiful smile disappeared completely. She was slowly dying from the outside in.

If only he could get his hands on some peppermint leaves. They had worked as a perfect antidote over 300 years ago when the entire Flush Fleas Sugar fairy community suddenly started putting on weight. The greatest supreme Soul wizard to have ever lived, Spellard, made this important discovery.

More precisely, he beat this discovery out of Traizon by slowly strangling the evil Soul wizard's glowing soul with one suitably protected hand, whilst using the memorial diamond of his late uncle Enchancia, which he held firmly in his other suitably protected hand, to painfully scrape at the evil wizard's memorial diamond.

Enchancia's memorial diamond was magnificently mounted in a chunky gold ring. The pain caused by this scraping to Traizon's soul was equivalent to a human having their skin peeled off with a blunt potato peeler. It was not long before Traizon surrendered to the pain and squealed, 'You have to place crushed peppermint leaves under their tongues!'

By the time Spellard made this important discovery, though, a few Sugar fairies had unfortunately already exploded. Nevertheless, the majority survived and the community soon thrived once again.

But Traizon had the last laugh. A few weeks later, he captured Spellard using the most evil of magic and then exposed Spellard's soul using the same volcanic rocks from Angry Mountain as Spellard had used against him. He then extracted Spellard's memorial diamond and laughed raucously as the most respected and revered of all Soul wizards, went up in a puff of smoke. It was Traizon's greatest victory. He wore the memorial diamond of Spellard on a choker around his neck. Every day, he would look deep into the diamond and laugh mockingly at Spellard. It never failed to bring a smile to his face.

Traizon decided to expel all the peppermint plants that still existed in the greater universe to the one place that he knew no sane creature would ever dare to venture: the planet Earth. Just the mere mention of the name Earth provoked fear and dread in galactic creatures. Galactic spies, who had visited this place, only managed to stay for a few hours and swore to never return. The accounts of life on Earth led many to believe that the place was Hell itself. Many believed that those who had committed lots of sins in their lives were sent to Earth upon dying to suffer for eternity.

The accounts by galactic spies who had been brave enough to visit Earth, painted a fairly grim picture. Images and scenes associated with life on Earth included:

Civil and Intercontinental Wars; Genocide; High Murder rates; High Crime rates; Corruption in Government; Rape; Pornography; Paedophilia; Prostitution; Aggression; Drugs; Alcohol; Greed; Jealousy; Divorce; Disease; Weapons of Mass Destruction; Depression; Suicide; Caged Animals; Institutionalised elderly; Homeless beggars; Children dying of starvation daily, whilst others lived liked kings; Kids abandoned all day long as their parents worked ridiculous hours; Soaring household debt and aggressive Bank Managers...

### CHAPTER 16

### SEARCH FOR THE PEPPERMINT PLANT

Dementia knew what he had to do. He would leave the Friendlies in charge of the 70 orphans whilst he was away.

He needed to return to Flush Fleas. It was Majika's only hope. First, he would head back to his humble abode in the Serene forest and create a more suitable form for himself. The miniature version was starting to irritate him. He had fallen down a steep incline earlier today and was sent hurtling out of control like an escaping bouncing ball.

Once the new form was complete, he would enter the old home of the late Spellard, which had stood as an empty shrine for hundreds of years, and search for any clues as to the whereabouts of the desperately needed peppermint plants.

He was hoping beyond hope that Traizon may have boasted to Spellard about the peppermint plants' new secret location prior to killing him. He was relying on Traizon's egotistical desire to prove to Spellard just how brilliant and cunning he was. He hoped that if this was the case, Spellard had somehow managed to leave some sort of clue as to the whereabouts of this plant before perishing. It was a real long shot, but time was running out for Majika. She was now bedridden and shaking.

Dementia would travel back to Flush Fleas with only Willowood. Frother and Hairy would stay behind and keep a bedside vigil for their beloved Sugar fairy friend. Dementia and Willowood followed the exact same path that had brought them to the Land of the Lonely, but this time back towards Flush Fleas. However, because Dementia was now so light, they were able to make the trip much quicker.

When they arrived in Flush Fleas, they were greeted by incredibly grim-faced Soul wizards. Not a single Sugar fairy could be seen and the air had an overpoweringly sweet smell to it. The Soul wizards explained that all of the Sugar fairies had contracted the 'Sugar Metabolism' virus a few weeks ago and were now all bedridden. The intensely sweet smell was the result of the thousands of Sugar Fruits that were rotting on overladen branches. None of the Sugar fairies dared eat anymore for fear of exploding. The Soul wizards had tried every spell imaginable, but nothing worked. With the whereabouts of the peppermint plants unknown, they felt helpless.

The problem had escalated enormously. It was no longer just Majika on the ageing wizard's plate. The whole Sugar fairy population was facing extermination. Time was of the essence. He hurried home and made his new form. He did not even bother dying it blue or creating hair. He did not even have time to say 'Hi' to Skellem, who was hiding very badly under Dementia's guffy feather quilt cover. Her stone wings made the quilt cover stand up like a camping tent.

Dementia and Willowood then made haste towards Spellard's empty house. Sun streamed through its uncurtained windows, illuminating the mass of cobwebs and dust that now filled each room. Fortunately, Dementia was able to use a 'Sparkle' spell to remove all the dust and cobwebs. Spellard's place now glistened. Although it was a fairly modest place, it had all of the familiar wizardry charms. The Shrewd-wood-framed mirror in the entrance hall smiled back at them, and the Shrewd-wood-framed couch groaned disapprovingly as Willowood sat down. Spellard had obviously possessed a good sense of humour.

'If I was Spellard,' thought Dementia aloud, 'where would I hide a clue?'

'You are Spellard, dummy!' came the reply from the direction of the mirror. It suddenly turned its silver-painted glass surface to the consistency of liquid mercury and then skilfully formed the free-flowing liquid into a strikingly handsome three-dimensional face.

Dementia felt a chill run through him.

'What do you mean? How can I be Spellard!' exclaimed Dementia. 'As Spellard was about to die all those years ago at the hands of Traizon,' continued the mirror, 'he managed to transfer his real memorial diamond into the soul of the closest Soul wizard child that he could find at such short notice. You just happened to be walking past at the time!'

'So that is why I have two memorial diamonds! One is me and one is Spellard!' smiled Dementia excitedly.

'Exactly!' replied the mirror. 'The memorial diamond that Traizon retrieved from Spellard's soul all those years ago was just a perfect-looking fake. Spellard had planned well for this day. By removing his own memorial diamond though, Spellard effectively gave up his own personal existence and now lives his existence through your eyes, Dementia!'

'Wow!' exclaimed Dementia. 'I am really honoured to share my soul with Spellard, though I am a little bit curious as to why he never speaks to me!'

'He probably does not want to impose, but I am sure he helps guide your decisions in the right direction.' smiled the mirror warmly.

'Well, if he is not comfortable imposing on me, I am going to have to impose on him!' replied Dementia.

Willowood watched on patiently as Dementia went into a deep state of meditation. Dementia was trying to get the two memorial diamonds to connect and communicate.

'Are you there, Spellard?' asked Dementia's memorial diamond. 'Yes, Dementia!' replied Spellard's memorial diamond. 'Thank you for sharing your soul with me all this time. I do apologise for having entered it without your permission.'

'No problem at all!' replied Dementia's memorial diamond. 'It is a huge honour to share my soul with such an esteemed Soul wizard.'

'Thank you!' replied Spellard's memorial diamond. 'You are most kind. I believe you seek the location of where the peppermint plants now grow!'

'Yes!' replied Dementia's memorial diamond excitedly. 'I am hoping that Traizon told you their new location before killing you – well, so to speak.'

'He did tell me, but you are not going to like the answer!' sighed Spellard's memorial diamond.

### CHAPTER 17

### THE JOURNEY TO EARTH

'Why did it have to be Earth!' cried Dementia. 'Any other place but Earth!'

There was no choice, though. The clock was ticking and time was their enemy. Dementia summoned Old Faithful.

Forces of Good, be kind to us

Take us to Earth without a fuss

Take us to where the peppermint plant grows

Preferably a spot that few Earthlings know

'Where have they disappeared to now?' shouted Skellem as Dementia and Willowood appeared to vaporise before her very eyes again. She angrily rubbed her bloodshot corneas; they were being kept permanently open by a complicated series of fishhooks and wires.

The blood drained from Alex McKenzie's face as Dementia and Willowood entered the cave that he had only just entered himself. He tried to scream, but no words would come out of his mouth. He tried to run but his legs would not move.

Dementia calmly removed an object that looked like a syringe from one of his large wizard pockets. He pressed a button and a fairly large needle suddenly emerged. He poked the needle directly into the petrified Earth kid's neck, directly in line with his vocal cords.

Alex McKenzie felt the sharp prick as the needle went in. He saw his life flash before his eyes as he lost consciousness.

'Don't be scared!' smiled Dementia compassionately as Alex started to regain consciousness. 'We come in peace. We are not here to harm you.'

'Y... Y... You speak English!' exclaimed Alex. 'You just jabbed me in the neck with that horrible looking syringe! Why should I believe you... and... and what brings you to Tidley Creek anyway? All we do is farm sheep and sell their wool. We do also make a few pairs of woollen socks, some beanies, and a handful of jumpers – but this is just for loose change... I assume you are not here to purchase clothing anyway. If you are here to abduct Earthlings, there are much better specimens available than me. I haven't even visited Sydney. So what do I know? And I am allergic to just about everything. I don't think alien climates will suit me. And I'm a real coward when it comes to pain. If you prod me or slice me open, I'll cry for days. And my mum says my cry is really annoying. My body is also in very bad shape. I live on junk food. I had a chocolate donut about ten minutes ago. And —'

'Enough please!' smiled Dementia. 'We are not here to abduct you. And the pain you felt was the translator chip entering you vocal cords. This chip translates every known language into a code that allows our brains to understand one another and speak one another's languages without conscious effort.'

'Every language!' exclaimed Alex, 'Even French?'

He hated French classes at school so this devise would be very helpful.

'Every language – even Australian, MATE!' smiled Dementia. 'It was Rovo Popsikon and his loyal team who invented the translator chip. It took them over 100 years to visit every known planet and record their distinct languages. I am told that his 200,000-page autobiography is quite a read – if you have three years' worth of reading time to spare. He revolutionised intergalactic relations.

Once creatures with different languages could understand one another clearly, inter-planetary and inter-dimensional misunderstandings were almost completely removed. This has reduced the number of galactic disputes significantly. Anyway, once all the languages were captured in their specifically designed machine, it matched up every word with the same meaning. As you speak, it picks up the sound vibrations and encodes them into the language of its host.'

Although Alex found this all very fascinating, he was more excited by the fact that he was not in danger of being abducted or used to create some sort of delicious alien, Earth-meat sandwich.

Alex, Dementia and Willowood all had the same burning thought. What had brought the other to this cave? Alex's explanation for being here was very bland when compared with the story that Dementia and Willowood told. Alex was simply visiting this cave because, as you may recall, he had accidentally discovered it the day before and was now wanting to see what was inside. It was pure fluke or fate, depending on which way you look at it, that his arrival happened to coincide almost precisely with the arrival of Dementia and Willowood.

As Alex helped them fill bag after bag with peppermint leaves, Dementia and Willowood both vividly described many of the wonderful and not-so-wonderful creatures that existed beyond the realms of Earth. They also described many of the different lands that both had explored. They told the entire story of the events that had unfolded to date. Alex's mind was awash with images. The characters and places danced around in his head and formed a completely new world for him; a world of excitement, mystique, danger, and fantasy. His mind painted the following picture:

Young, mischievous Sugar fairies looping and hooping through the air... gorging on candy-cane shaped Sugar Fruits... pelting unsuspecting Soul wizards down below with Murkleberries... chasing their enormous Wobbit pets and tickling them under their tummies... grooming their wings... scrubbing Murkleberry juice from their skin... gossiping to the Shrewd trees... trying to spot the well camouflaged families of Drudger worms... Older Sugar fairy mums cutting Rising flowers at their stems... snatching at the upwards floating flower heads... crushing these flower heads to create delicious Rising flower bread... flying to the top of their high kitchen ceilings to retrieve the newly cooked loaves... embroidering colourful sequins onto pink and purple Sugar fairy leotards... dusting their Warpel wood houses... polishing their Zophobian crystal houses... Older Soul wizard husbands soaking doorstopper size pieces of delicious Rising flower bread into rich Guffy egg yolk... collecting Bend rubber pods... fleecing Wobbits of their fur... recreating their Bend rubber forms... testing out their latest Shrewd wood wands... Young Soul wizards hiding behind Warpel wood houses and Sugar Fruit trees and ambushing unsuspecting Sugar fairies with a barrage of Murkleberries... testing their magic by turning large rocks to sand and the snow white fur of Wobbits into a variety of colours... creating frightening Bend rubber forms to scare young Sugar fairies... a quirky Sugar fairy named Majika applying thick black (Guffy egg yolk mixed with Murkleberry juice) makeup... the lopsided, stacked pretzel shaped house that she lived in... her superstitious mum... her adoring dad... her mischievous older sisters... her pet Wobbit, Flopsy, laughing loudly and crying fountains... her 'bitch session' with the Shrewd trees... her victory over the snobby Wandina... her sudden weight gain... her sad exodus from Flush Fleas... her Doolan dragon friend Frother... his powder blue Mohawk hair and steaming nostrils... his loyalty and bravery... her Glutton spider friend Hairy... his Halloween pumpkin shape... his guts behaviour and drama queen antics... the little balls of fur called Coolaboohs... a brave one called Fluffier... the blue-scaled, broad-bean-shaped creatures called Lentinas... an injured one called Hildegard... cowardly, bullying creatures that resembled Bigfoot called Riboltians... A Riboltian called Sked who detested his kind and dared to stand up and be counted... Upside down Golf bobs.... Vendetta-bent Carbanaras... Burlian dragon slayers who rode on female Modesta unicorns and who were also excellent ironsmiths... The Land of the Lonely and its Friendlies and Unfriendlies... the new orphanage and its 70 odd orphans... The deceased egotistical genius, Neuro... his enormous head and skeletally thin body... the still-very-alive evil Soul wizard named Traizon... memorial diamonds and glowing Souls... Spellard...

These images would probably not have been nearly as vivid and real for Alex, were it not for the fact that he was currently in the company of: a glossy white, bald, rubber-skinned supreme Soul wizard, who was dressed in a robe and brandishing a wand; and a luminous-green-haired, blowfish-faced Elkwoodian boy, who was wearing a large gold medallion with an embossed image of a fully functioning heart, that actually pulsated like a real heart. Their appearance had immediately caused Alex's imaginative juices to start flowing.

Within the space of 20 minutes, the three of them had managed to fill more than 20 bags to the brim and had harvested over 1000 peppermint leaves. Dementia and Willowood had also managed to give Alex an excellent glimpse into an exciting world that existed well beyond the boundaries of Tidley Creek.

Dementia was now satisfied that they had more than enough of these peppermint leaves and the two of them bid Alex farewell. Alex begged to come along for the ride but Dementia remained resolute. Whilst Traizon was still alive, it was too dangerous a place to bring a naive young Earthling to. Chaos was likely to unfold any minute. Traizon would still be seething over Neuro's defeat and busily plotting his revenge.

Dementia did promise, however, to return once Traizon had been destroyed and take Alex on a short tour of the galaxy, provided Alex swore to keep their discovery secret. Alex gave his word. Who was he going to tell anyway? Who would possibly believe him if he did tell?

Alex gave his solemn word and advised that he would visit the cave every Friday at 2pm, until such time as they came. Friday afternoons after 2pm suited him best because school finished early on Fridays. He pointed out that they would need to have him back home by 5pm at the latest, so that he was not late for dinner. Dementia did not think seem to think that this would be any major problem.

Alex also promised to take them on a tour of Earth at some stage. Dementia did not want to hurt the enthusiastic young Earthling's feelings and simply suggested that all of this could be discussed the next time they met.

As Alex lay in bed that night, he could not stop thinking about his encounter today. His world had suddenly expanded. There were other creatures out there and other planets and other dimensions. Tidley Creek was already a small place. It now seemed even smaller.

He drifted into a deep sleep and had a rather strange dream. In it, he was a tiny goldfish in one of those salad-bowl-sized fish tanks. He was swimming around quite peacefully when the bowl was suddenly picked up and tipped into an enormous aquarium. As he went splashing in head-first, he was greeted by a variety of fish and other sea creatures. Some looked friendly and others looked decidedly menacing. He was filled with both excitement and fear.

### CHAPTER 18

### THE BURLIAN DRAGON SLAYERS

The moment Dementia and Willowood touched down in the Land of the Lonely, they rushed to Majika's side. She was only just breathing. Dementia frantically crushed a few peppermint leaves between his rubbery fingers. He delicately opened Majika's mouth and placed the crushed pieces under her tongue. As the fumes made their way down her throat, they burned away the evil spell. Majika felt relieved and she squeezed Frother and Hairy's hands.

'I am going to be okay!' she smiled 'The curse is no longer within!' Frother and Hairy's eyes flowed freely with tears of joy. How Dementia wished that he could have joined in! Tear ducts sure would have come in handy – yet again! Having regained his composure, the ageing Soul wizard summoned Old Faithful. 'We need to get to Flush Fleas as soon as possible!'

He decided to leave Willowood in the care of his companions. His gut feeling was that things were going to get very nasty from this point onwards.

By the time Dementia reached Flush Fleas, a few fairies had already perished. He was deeply saddened by this news. The wizards all helped him crush peppermint leaves and make the hundreds of home visits. It took them hours to visit every single fairy home and administer the peppermint medicine. It had been an extremely tiring day, but most rewarding nevertheless. The fairies of Flush Fleas were safe once again and would recover fully over the next few days.

The next morning, Dementia was visited by a very grateful Mayor Weezel. His daughter, Wandina, had been saved from the brink of death. He confessed to having compromised Flush Fleas' resistance to evil forces by paying the Burlian dragon slayers with Flush Fleas' sacred jewels. Only about half of the jewels still remained.

Whilst the fairies recovered, Dementia spent hours trying to work out how to get the sacred jewels back from the Burlian dragon slayers and how to defeat Traizon. Returning the sacred jewels was essential. They protected Flush Fleas and gave it its energy. Traizon's magic could still hurt them while the sacred jewels were missing and the energy remained low.

The Burlian dragon slayers were both a powerful and intelligent race. They had to be in order to defeat the strong and cunning Doolan dragons. Dementia was not going to be able to outmuscle or outsmart them in order to regain the sacred jewels. Rather, he needed to present them with something that they would view as being of equal or greater value than the sacred jewels. Then he could do a fair trade.

Suddenly, out of the blue, it came to him.

'Hurry!' he shouted at Old Faithful. 'We need to get to Angry Mountain pronto! Oh, hi Skellem!'

'Drat!' thought Skellem. 'How did he spot me?' The Carbanara was both surprised and disappointed. After all, she had painted herself from head to toe in the exact same colour purple as the 30-centimetre-high Flush Fleas wild grass in which she was crouching. Unfortunately, Skellem was totally colour-blind! She had in fact painted herself luminous-orange. Apart from this blatant giveaway, her leopard crawling had flattened the grass completely, creating an obvious path. She may as well have been dragging a lawnmower behind her!

Angry Mountain was angry by name and angry by nature. The rumbling and grumbling became louder and louder with every step forward that Dementia took. Boiling lava bubbled on the surface, occasionally spurting upwards. By the time he reached the loose pieces of volcanic rock, the heat of the surrounding air was extremely intense. He bent down and started to load piece after piece of this impressive rock into large fire-resistant bags.

By the time he had filled all the bags, his hands, feet, body and face had been melted away quite severely. The disfigurement was truly grotesque and not a pleasant sight for the squeamish. His altered physical appearance did not bother him in the slightest. After all, he was not a fashion model. It did impact on his eyesight though because his molten upper eyelids had slumped downwards quite considerably and were now partially obscuring his view.

He valiantly tried to rip both of these drooping upper eyelids off. He stretched both forward more than 30 centimetres before arm fatigue set in and both eyelids went slamming back towards his eye sockets with enormous force. This ocular trauma caused his eyesight to become even more blurry and distorted.

Half blind and cooked medium rare, he arrived with Old Faithful and several heavy bags of volcanic rock at the picturesque Burlia Valley, which lies perfectly nestled between the two peaks of Mount Polaris. This exquisite valley is teaming with vegetation and wildlife, and is home to the Burlian dragon slayers. Most of the vegetation is poisonous, though – as is the wildlife that has adapted to live on it. Consequently, over the years, the Burlian dragon slayers have become experts in poison extraction techniques.

The two peaks of Mount Polaris are both composed almost completely of a strongly magnetised iron ore called magneto. One peak contains positively polarised magneto and the other peak contains negatively polarised magneto. The two peaks are therefore strongly attracted to one another and fill the air between them with powerful magnetic energy. Many believe that the Burlian dragon slayers are such healthy and robust creatures because the magnetic energy in the air causes their blood to circulate incredibly well, promoting excellent tissue growth and regeneration.

You do have to be vigilant whist visiting Burlia, though, because enormous loose boulders from each of the peaks occasionally succumb to the pull from the opposing peak and go flying through the air, from one main peak to the other.

Dementia was greeted by the leader of the Burlian dragon slayers, King Mullimus. This charismatic ruler looks the epitome of a perfectly constructed human male – save for his dagger-sharp finger tips. He has the body of a Greek Adonis, a face similar to that of the famous romance-novel cover boy Fabio, and the presence and confidence of a Hollywood film star. His dark brown eyes and thin masculine lips give nothing away. His hair is salt and pepper coloured – more salt than pepper – and his skin is tough, dry, and weather-beaten. This all adds to his rugged, masculine appeal. His exposed arms are rippled with muscles, the result of many years of pulling back hard on taut arrow strings and pounding thick Holidian metal bars into thin sheet metal.

Despite the Burlian dragon-slayer males all looking like America's next supermodel, he was definitely the pick of the crop. Nobody dared to challenge his strength or authority. He was ferocious in hand to hand combat and was the only known one of his kind to have ever defeated a Doolan dragon with his bare hands.

About five years ago, whilst hunting a particularly large Doolan dragon, the white female Modesta unicorn upon which he was flying came too close to the Doolan dragon's left flank and its enormous left wing sent them both hurtling towards the ground. The poor unicorn hit the ground with enormous velocity and died upon impact, but Mullimus, a little bit disoriented, landed on top of her flattened carcass and somehow managed to survive.

This made him easy pickings for the Doolan dragon. It swooped down and grabbed him in one fluent motion. It then lifted him up towards its open mouth to consume like a peanut. Just in the nick of time, Mullimus managed to summon the strength required to squirm himself free from its vice-like grip. He then slid down the front of its fibreglass neck and into one of the delicate folds in its soft belly. With his dagger-sharp nails, he then pierced through its soft tummy and drove his entire arm all the way upwards towards this beast's thumping heart. He grabbed the heart and ripped it out. The other Burlian dragon slayers who were watching from above on their unicorns, were stunned by what they had just witnessed. It was the stuff that legends are made of.

As a reward for his gallant effort, he was presented with the most obese of the eligible young brides. Yes, obesity is seen as a great sign of beauty by Burlian dragon slayer males – the bigger their wives, the better. A perfect dragon slayer female has enormous, cellulite-covered buttocks, hips and thighs, a wine-barrel-shaped tummy that shakes like jelly, and a swollen face with at least at three chins. The females therefore gorge themselves from morning till dusk on a high-fat, high-calorie diet. They look at their full-length mirrors every morning hoping to discover new folds of fat and additional cellulite indentations.

Although King Mullimus was taken aback by Dementia's horrendous disfigurement, he was even more stunned by the Soul wizard's ridiculous proposal.

'Why would we even consider trading our magnificent and valuable Flush Fleas jewels, which we have worked so hard to attain, for a bag full of ugly rocks!' shouted King Mullimus. His voice was very deep and commanding. He was wearing a solid gold chest plate that was encrusted with jewels, including a few of the Flush Fleas sacred jewels.

Dementia knew that Burlian dragons slayers always try to pre-heat their arrows to as high a temperature as possible so that their arrows can melt their way through the thick, fibreglass-like skin of Doolan dragons. Cold arrows would just bounce off them, unless you were able to strike their soft underbellies, but it was almost impossible to get to their underbellies and was simply too risky. Mullimus' experience was a perfect example of just how risky this could be. If its enormous wings didn't get you, it's even longer and more powerful tail would.

Trouble also occurred when the pre-heated arrows cooled down and the pursuer suddenly became the pursued. The volcanic rocks from Angry Mountain would heat the arrows to such an extreme temperature that the arrowheads would remain boiling hot for considerably longer and would slice though the Doolan dragons' body armour like a hot knife through butter.

Dementia also knew that these super-heated rocks would greatly assist the Burlian dragon slayers with their iron works. Their metal craftsmanship was highly sought after. However, it took so much time and effort to create sufficient heat to melt the Holidian metal bars that it often did not pay them to accept some of the smaller projects that were offered to them.

King Mullimus was clearly intrigued and requested a demonstration of the rocks' super-heating powers. Dementia threw a few into an open fire. Within moments, the heat of the fire had intensified threefold. A few moments later, and the heat was so intense that they all had to step back five metres.

'You have a deal!' smiled King Mullimus. He grabbed the bags of volcanic rocks and handed over the bag of sacred jewels.

Dementia coughed sheepishly as he stared at the King's chest plate. 'Oh, yes!' said King Mullimus and used a sharp arrowhead to lever out the remaining sacred Flushflean jewels from his chest plate.

'If you can keep supplying us with these magic rocks,' continued King Mullimus, 'we will keep your Sugar fairies safe, free of charge!'

'You have a deal!' smiled Dementia.

Dementia asked one further favour. He asked if they would be prepared to temporarily set aside their differences with the Doolan dragons and use their combined strength to assist in destroying Traizon.

Mullimus and the other Burlian dragon slayers let out enormous gasps and stepped backwards at the mere mention of Traizon's name. It was a clear indication of just how fearful they were of this evil megalomaniac. He had caused them a great deal of grief and hardship in the past, and they would have done anything to see the back of him – even if it meant forming a temporary alliance with the Doolan dragons.

One of Traizon's nastier spells was the 'Dagger' spell that caused all the tips of the Burlian dragon slayers' fingers to become as sharp as daggers – in an Edward Scissorhandish sort of way. This has made embracing their spouses really difficult, which is exceedingly upsetting to them because they are a very affectionate, touchy-feely, race. Traizon did this to punish them for refusing to add Sugar fairy slaying to their resumes.

Dementia assured King Mullimus that this spell would be broken the moment Traizon was destroyed. Mullimus and his brigade listened carefully as Dementia explained the plan.

### CHAPTER 19

### THE DOOLAN DRAGONS

The wizards and fairies of Flush Fleas were surprised to see Dementia return with a bag full of the town's sacred jewels.

They were also very concerned by his completely disfigured form. He quickly put their minds at ease by smiling broadly.

They had no idea that these jewels had been missing in the first place. Mayor Weezel openly confessed to his crime in front of all present and begged for forgiveness. He was indeed forgiven, but stripped of his post. A new mayor would need to be elected.

When the missing jewels were once again united with the rest of the jewels, the powerful glow returned to full intensity. Flush Fleas had all its energy back! Everything immediately appeared to be more vibrant.

The Sugar fairies were moving around once again. None could fly yet, but all were dropping weight nicely, despite gorging once again on their beloved Sugar Fruits. It was only a matter of time before they would be flying around joyously.

The final obstacle to peace and happiness was the dreaded Traizon. Dementia had thought long and hard about how he might bring about Traizon's demise. Attempts to hurt Traizon with magic would simply serve to inflame the tyrant further. He had experienced Traizon's wrath once before already. The memory of the burning Elkwoodian elves still haunted him.

Despite being tainted and evil, Traizon was still a Soul wizard. So he would have exactly the same weakness as Dementia. But how would one get close enough to Traizon in order to burn away his form and make his soul glow? The intensity of the heat would need to be extreme, like that created by volcanic rocks. Even if this could be achieved, one had to first find Traizon. Nobody knew where he lived. Dementia therefore realised that he would have to get Traizon to come to them.

The plan that he had devised was exceptional, but relied on several factors. He would need to work out a way to free the Coolaboohs and Lentinas from the Riboltians and give them free passage to the Land of the Lonely. For this, he would need the help of the Doolan dragons. Their huge mass and ferocious fire-breathing abilities would leave the Riboltians trembling in their boots.

However, because Soul wizards are allies of the Sugar fairies and always try to protect them from Doolan dragon attack, they are also viewed by the Doolan dragons as being an enemy. So he knew that his visit to their lair, high up in Mount Doolany, would be treated with great suspicion – unless Frother accompanied him. His plan would be to persuade the Doolan dragons to stop hunting Sugar fairies and rather change their diet to Riboltians. After all, Riboltians were large, lazy animals with plenty of soft, fatty flesh. The average Riboltian offered ten times more edible meat per serve than the average Sugar fairy.

He was sure that the extra travel that the Doolan dragons would need to make in order to get to the Riboltian territory would be more than compensated for by the larger feast on offer. Furthermore, since the Burlian dragon slayers had started protecting the Sugar fairies, hunting them had become very risky. Many of the Doolan dragons were slowly starving to death and would no doubt welcome an alternate source of nutrition.

Dementia also needed to persuade these Doolan dragons to set aside their differences with the Burlian dragon slayers and form an alliance against Traizon. He knew that this would be a fairly easy sell because they hated Traizon more than any other creature did.

After all, it was Traizon's 'Empty Stomach' spell that caused them to feel continually hungry. He had done this in order to make them feel the need to hunt for Sugar fairies more frequently. In this way, he would ensure a speedier demise of the Sugar fairy population.

As a direct result of the 'Empty Stomach' spell, the Doolan dragons suffered constant hunger pains and their lives centred around hunting and eating. They could not focus on living the meaningful lives that they had once enjoyed. Fortunately for Frother, he had left the Doolan dragon lairs years before the spell passed through.

After a quick stop at home to replace his distorted form with a shiny new one – complete with fully functioning tear ducts – Dementia returned to the Land of the Lonely to discuss his idea with Frother and the others.

'Oh, hi, Skellem. Bye, Skellem!' smiled Dementia moments before vaporising.

'Damn, damn, damn!' shouted Skellem. 'How did he spot me again?'

The frustrated Carbanara angrily tried to remove her head and body from the hollow segment of Pritushi cane that she had harvested earlier today and then squashed her body into. It had taken a long time to find a hollow cane large enough to also accommodate her swollen pink backside. She was now stuck in it and could think of no other way to get out other than to split the cane. The only way to do this was to repeatedly bash into other Pritushi canes, and fall forwards and backwards on the ground.

It had been as easy as pie for Dementia to discover Skellem because her segment of Pritushi cane was only two metres high, and the surrounding canes that she chose to try blend in with, were over 100 metres high. So she stood out like a sore thumb. Furthermore, she kept moving around because her toes were itchy.

Dementia's companions in the Land of the Lonely were really happy to see him again and loved his master plan. Frother was more than happy to accompany Dementia back to the Doolan dragons' lair. After all, this was the home of his birth. Now that he had flames, he hoped that he would finally be accepted back into his clan. He was not sure that he would want to return permanently, but at least he would have that option. He would be able to roam freely without being teased and abused.

Dementia gave Frother some of the special volcanic rocks to put at the back of his nostrils. These would super-heat the fire as it passed over them. Frother shot a few test flames and the effect of the volcanic rocks was incredible. He truly hoped that he would be given the opportunity to show off his regained flame blowing abilities. He would outperform every last one of them. It would hopefully finally stop them from referring to him hurtfully, as 'Flameless Filly'. Having enjoyed this fantasy, he then reprimanded himself for being so unbelievably vain and self-centred. The meeting, after all, was not about him!

Before leaving, Dementia quickly checked up on everyone. The orphans were being looked after fantastically well by the Friendlies and Dementia's companions. Majika had made a full recovery and was flying again. Every second day, she would take the orphans on an exciting new sightseeing trip. They would look for new varieties of herbs and wild flowers and catalogue them.

Hildegard was also looking terrific and healing very well. New scales were starting to grow and the old ones had regained their blue shimmer. Most importantly of all, her exuberant energy had returned. She was hard at work, building the orphans an enormous cubbyhouse. For the first time in her life, she was building something because she wanted to, rather than doing so because she was forced to.

Dementia was also delighted to find that Sked and Flufiel had arrived safely. They had missed the entire encounter with Neuro and the Unfriendlies, but would be here for the inevitable encounter with Traizon. This was a good thing. Every extra bit of help would be useful against the might of Traizon.

Sked was enthusiastically painting a huge mural onto the back wall of the orphanage. The images were filled with happiness and hope. The sun shone and the sky was blue. Flowers bloomed and fruits ripened. Healthy-looking children laughed raucously as they played freely.

Flufiel's thick white coat had grown back nicely. Not a stitch of pink skin was showing. His large puppy-dog eyes looked happy and playful. He was turning out to be an outstanding storyteller. The orphans clung to his every word. The nasty, dumb, clumsy, pathetic villains in all of his stories were based on the evil Riboltians. There was one heroic Riboltian, though, who dared to come to the aid of some of the weaker, peace-loving citizens, whose lives were in grave danger. So as to avoid embarrassing the ever-so-humble Sked, he called this Riboltian 'Bravry'.

Frother was also proving to be a real hit with the orphans. They enjoyed climbing up his head, walking along his back, and then sliding down his enormous, smooth tail. This activity was even more fun in the indoor pool. The orphans all agreed that his belly flops were spectacular. When he advised them that he would be heading off for a day or two with Dementia, they were all bitterly disappointed.

Meantime, Hairy was being his lovable, lazy self. He was lying on his back like Lord Muck, his limbs stretched out, taking in the morning sun. 'Thith ith the life!' he smiled as he dangled a Murd fly on a thread, closer and closer to his mouth. With the disappearance of the meat market, the Murd fly population had diminished dramatically. They were no longer an annoyance. Yet there were still enough present to keep Mr Guts very satisfied.

The unlikely duo of Frother and Dementia arrived at the Doolan dragons' lair in the late afternoon. The lair is located halfway up the 5000-metre-high Mount Doolany. The region of this mountain inhabited by the Doolan dragons is known as the Open Mouths. It is so named because there are a series of massive caves that cut deep into the mountainside and resemble massive open mouths. The stalactites and stalagmites that adorn the entrance to each cave give the impression of enormous teeth. Each cave is about 20 times the size of your average Boeing 747 airport hangar.

The landscape is dominated by steep cliffs, rocky ledges, massive fissures, and the famous Stone trees. These trees have evolved over time to become resistant to fire. Although their internal wood is still very flammable, you first have to get past the thick, stone-bark outer coating.

The duo were immediately escorted to the courtyard of the Doolan dragon king. King Flambay is a very impressive looking specimen. He is at least a metre taller than any of the other dragons and much broader. His protective armour is highly polished and the thick powder-blue mane of hair on his head is oiled and magnificently plaited.

'What brings the decrepit Soul wizard Dementia and his pathetic, steam-blowing sidekick, Flameless Filly, to our lair? The answer had better be very good. Your lives depend on it!'

Dementia performed a spell that suddenly made him appear enormous and powerful and Frother burned one of these supposedly flame resistant Stone trees to ash with just a single flame. The intensity of the heat caused its stone bark to explode in all directions like a discharging hand grenade. Burning down a Stone tree with even repeated flames was unheard of. Burning one down with just a single flame was mindboggling and beggared belief. The Doolan dragons all stepped back with a mixture of fear and awe on their stunned faces.

'Don't be too quick to judge us!' smiled Dementia as he slowly shrunk down to his normal size. 'All is not as it seems. We come in peace. We have a proposal for you, which will help your clan and also help us.'

Having now gained Flambay's respect, Dementia received the king's full attention, as he outlined the benefits of his proposal to both parties.

Flambay agreed to assist Dementia free the Coolaboohs and Lentinas. It would be a good opportunity to sample Riboltian meat. He also gave Frother an open invitation to return to the Doolan dragon clan if ever he wanted to.

'Such a fine flame thrower as you, _Frother_ , would be a huge asset to our clan!' he smiled.

'Th-Th-Thank you, your m-m-majesty!' smiled Frother proudly. He was finally being acknowledged and accepted by his own. The years of torment were over! His demeaning nickname of 'Flameless Filly' was forgotten forever and replaced with the flattering nickname of 'Flaming Frother'.

King Flambay and his citizens were only too happy to team up with the Burlian dragon slayers in any battle against Traizon. Dementia assured them that if Traizon was to be defeated, all of his spells would die with him. Their constant hunger pains would finally subside.

The Riboltians were taken by complete surprise as the Doolan dragons swooped in. Their heads retracted into their chest cavities and their arms swung furiously. Yet they remained transfixed in the same spot. This made them easy targets for the Doolan dragons' flames. It was like cooking compliant marshmallows. All the Doolan dragons agreed that roasted Riboltian tasted sensational.

The thousands of Riboltians who were spared from being a snack on this occasion stood shell-shocked and helpless as the Lentinas and Coolaboohs boarded the Doolan dragons for the flight to their new home, the Land of the Lonely.

Huge excitement greeted the Doolan dragons as they suddenly started to descend in large numbers, with their precious cargo holding on for dear life.

Hildegard and Flufiel were overjoyed to finally be reunited with their families once again. The Doolan dragons, led by Flambay, left soon after. It was already approaching 1pm. They raced off at tremendous speed to pick up their new allies, the Burlian dragon slayers. They would also return with any Soul wizards and Sugar fairies willing to fight. The flight would be long and would require a lot of energy. However, they knew exactly where to stop for a quick and easy treat.

They needed to hurry because Dementia was sure that Traizon would attack soon. They would need to make the trip there and back in less than twelve hours. Keep in mind that it had taken Frother and his companions about 20 hours of travel time to do this trip only one way. This will hopefully give you an idea of just how quickly these Doolan dragons can fly when they really need to.

### CHAPTER 20

### THE FINAL SHOWDOWN

Whilst those in the Land of the Lonely prepared for a potential attack, Traizon boiled with anger. First had come the loss of Neuro, then the return of the Sugar fairies' health, and now, the brutal attack on his beloved Riboltians and the freedom of those pathetic Coolaboohs and Lentinas. He was so overcome with rage and hunger for revenge that he set off immediately for the Land of the Lonely.

Given that his Flexan bird form was light and his tainted wand, Evooli, was very powerful, he estimated that he could comfortably make the trip in about twelve hours without tiring Evooli. She would need to be fresh for the main event.

The Brood wood wand would first teleport them to Smelter Thirteen on Barren Mountain. She would only be afforded five hours' rest before being required to teleport them to Brother Five of the Five Brothers. She would then have a further five hours' rest before delivering them to the outskirts of the Land of the Lonely. Traizon's Flexan form would then fly him towards the town centre. If all went according to plan, he should arrive in the town centre well before sunrise. This would allow him to mount his attack whilst the Friendlies and their allies were in deep sleep and totally defenceless.

As Traizon arrived at Smelter Thirteen, the golden heart on Willowood's sacred Elkwoodian medallion started to beat considerably quicker. He immediately informed Dementia of this change. The ageing wizard now knew that Traizon was on the march and drawing ever closer. He prayed that the Doolan dragons and their passengers would get here before Traizon did. They would require as much help as possible.

Whilst Evooli slept, Traizon surveyed Barren Mountain. His Flexan bird form allowed him to get an aerial view of his surrounds. He spotted nothing curious or spectacular – until he came upon the sparkling black Sugar fairy leotard. Its discovery left him completely baffled. Instead of rehearsing his plan or resting, he spent wasteful hours focusing on why it was black, who it belonged to, and how it may have got here. It was just as well that he didn't discover Dementia's discarded right thumb. That would have thrown him into a real spin.

When Traizon arrived at the apex of Brother Five, five hours later, he discovered two more of these black Sugar fairy leotards. He was now more confused than ever. He desperately wanted to understand why they were turning up all over the place. Did their presence hold any significance? Was their black colouring some sort of omen? He was very superstitious. Solving this mystery had now become an all-consuming obsession for him. Yet again, this baffling mystery kept him from resting or rehearsing his plan.

His arrival on Brother Five also caused Willowood's golden heart to beat even quicker. Dementia knew that an attack was now imminent. He therefore breathed a huge sigh of relief as the first of the returning Doolan dragons signalled their arrival through the dark skies by blowing enormous flames.

'Save your flames!' shouted Dementia excitedly. 'You are going to need every last drop of fire power very soon!'

Having arrived at the outskirts of the Land of the Lonely, Traizon began the two minute flight towards the town centre. It was dead quiet and not a single light source was burning. This was exactly the way he wanted it to be. He was relying on the element of surprise. Even the town centre was pitch-black and deathly quiet.

Traizon sounded his arrival from high in the sky by getting Evooli to indiscriminately shoot out thousands of soccer ball sized fireballs. He laughed loudly as houses and trees all over the place caught alight. However, not a single creature emerged from the burning houses. He had expected to see panic-stricken, half-asleep creatures scuttling around like frightened rats.

'Come out and face me, you... you cowards!' he screamed, and then produced an even more intense wave of fireballs; this time, the size of beach balls. Almost every single house and tree was now ablaze. Only a handful of both escaped the onslaught and remained unblemished. One such structure was the enormous orphanage. The fireballs literally curved around it as its magic repelled them and modified their courses.

Despite the carnage and raging infernos, not one of the Friendlies or their allies emerged from their smouldering houses. Traizon nervously rubbed the top of his Flexan bird head with its feathery right wing. He was totally perplexed.

'What in blazes is going on!' he screamed.

Dementia and his crew had expected this attack and had a surprise of their own in store. 'Attack!' shouted Dementia.

Frother and his squadron of Doolan dragons suddenly arose from the east. Flambay and his squadron of Doolan dragons suddenly arose from the west. They headed straight towards Traizon. All the Doolan dragons had volcanic rocks in their nostrils. Their Burlian dragon slayer passengers' arrowheads had also been pre-heated with volcanic rock.

Under the command of Dementia, the Sugar fairies and Soul wizards who had come to assist suddenly arose from the north. They had been hiding behind the crude shanty town wrecks that the Unfriendlies once called home. Dementia stood between Willowood and his nephew, Zoola. Willowood's golden heart was thumping at a million miles an hour. Majika stood beside her older sisters, Honeypop and Twinkledust, and her new friend, Wandina.

From the south, Sked and his regiments of Coolaboohs and Lentinas suddenly appeared from behind the cover of the huge orphanage building. They wheeled out five large mechanical catapults and buckets of boiling-hot volcanic rocks. Next to Sked stood Flufiel and Hildegard.

Traizon had no idea which way to turn. The Burlian dragon slayers shot thousands of burning-hot arrows at him. They easily burnt away his Flexan form and started to heat up his tainted soul. At this stage, his soul appeared as little more than a very faint red outline. The boiling catapult propelled rocks then also hit their target and caused the dim red outline to thicken and begin glowing. It was not yet glowing sufficiently though, because his memorial diamond could not be seen.

In response to these counter attacks, Traizon furiously instructed Evooli to shoot fireballs the size of hot air balloons. The Soul wizards and Sugar fairies used their combined magical powers to counteract the destructive force of these enormous fireballs. Some were redirected and crashed well before their target. Others were turned to water and jelly. Dementia even managed to make a few turn to massive piles of feathers. Unfortunately, many of these colossal fireballs got through unscathed and hit their targets.

It was very sad to see a few large Doolan dragons and their Burlian dragon slayer passengers come crashing to the ground like fiery meteors. Led by Flufiel and Hildegard, Coolaboohs and Lentinas fearlessly negotiated their way through a battlefield strewn with fire, water, jelly and feathers, to reach their fallen comrades. They all desperately tried to extinguish the flames using little more than buckets of water and sand. Totally exposed, many of these brave creatures also lost their lives.

A number of Sugar fairies were also turned to ashes whilst waving their wands bravely and yelling out commands. Several of the wizards also took direct hits. Fortunately for them, all they lost were their rubbery forms. The heat was not sufficient to make their souls glow.

Although the alliance were taking some casualties, they were also inflicting serious damage on Traizon. The Doolan dragons that survived were now in close enough range to start blowing a solid, continuous wall of flame at Traizon. Their dragon slayer passengers had to shield their faces and close their eyes because the radiant heat was so intense.

Traizon screamed out in agony as his soul's outline began to glow like a fluorescent red beacon. His memorial diamond suddenly revealed itself. Although bright and sparkly, it also had speckles of black – as if infected by some cancerous growth.

Traizon's glowing soul screamed out one last desperate command to Evooli and it suddenly started to pour down with rain. The Doolan dragons fought furiously to keep Traizon's soul glowing against the cooling effects of the rain. It was a classic battle of water versus fire. Whilst the rain fell relentlessly and showed no signs of stopping, the Doolan dragons were starting to run out of puff – all except one.

Frother had been flameless for most of his life. There was no way a little rain was going to dampen his spirit. He continued to blow wave after wave of fire at Traizon's exposed soul.

Suddenly, Traizon's soul turned evilly towards Frother and smashed him with an invisible power wave. Frother and his dragon slayer passenger went spinning out of control towards the ground. A loud splat could be heard as Frother's enormous frame collided with one of the only remaining huge blobs of jelly. Most had already liquefied as a result of the surrounding heat. The soft jelly went flying in all directions. Unfortunately, so did Frother's dragon slayer passenger, Sledimus.

Frother lay motionless, but breathing, head-first in the jelly. Sledimus was not quite so lucky. His mangled body lay completely limp on the hard ground 15 metres away. His limbs started to stiffen as rigor mortis set in. Sledimus had taken his last flight, and his last breath.

It took the combined efforts of 60 Lentinas to roll Frother out of the jelly so as to prevent him from choking or suffocating. 'One, two, three, heave!' shouted Hildegard desperately. The combined might of their 60 industrial-strength spring-like spines did the job. Frother grimaced with pain as the large cuts and abrasions made contact with the hard turf below. The Lentina's were delighted to hear these grimaces because it meant that Frother was conscious.

'W-W-What hap-hap-happened?' he cried out, still semi-dazed and in a severe state of shock. 'W-W-Where's Sl-Sl-Sledimus?'

With their primary fire producer now out of commission, things were looking decidedly grim for the allies. The glow of Traizon's soul was starting to diminish and the memorial diamond was rapidly fading from view.

Traizon's soul arrogantly descended from the sky and made its way towards the helpless Frother. The tyrant was planning to finish Frother off because he knew that this would be an enormously demoralising blow to the allies. Instead of scattering, the 60 Lentinas all corralled around Frother to form a continuous blue, shimmering-scaled, protective shield. Not a single one of them considered their own personal safety.

Suddenly, and without warning, Traizon's soul stopped its forward advance and turned around sharply, in response to a loud, spine tingling shriek. It was Sked. With his head concealed in his chest cavity and his arms flailing wildly, the brave Riboltian spun his way towards Traizon like an enormous spinning top, like a mini-tornado. Whilst Sked knew that the intense heat of Traizon's glowing soul would incinerate him, he was more than happy to accept this painful death if it meant also dislodging Traizon's memorial diamond from his glowing soul in the process. He was about to sacrifice his life for the greater cause.

'Please don't do it, Sked!' screamed Flufiel. 'We don't want you to die! We love you!'

His fast-paced, high-pitched helium voice was drowned away by the sounds of the falling rain and the sizzling steam created by the thousands of fires that were being snuffed out. Tears of sorrow also welled up in Hildegard's bulging eyes.

'Please Sked!' she cried beseechingly, in her slow, dry, twangy voice, and set chase after the gentle giant who had saved her and Flufiel's lives. 'We will find another way to destroy Traizon!'

Hildegard's running style was not designed for speed though. Her extremely convexly arched back made it look like she was going backwards with every step she took forward. There was no way she was going to catch up with him in time – even if Sked were to trip several times.

This temporary distraction was just the opportunity that Willowood had been waiting for. He pulled back with all his might on his powerfully elasticised slingshot and let go. The metallic ball that it released was about the size of an apricot and as smooth as a well-polished ball bearing. It went flying through the air with enormous speed and power.

'Die, Traizon!' screamed Willowood as the metallic ball made perfect impact with Traizon's memorial diamond and sent it hurtling out of the evil Soul wizard's glowing soul and towards the advancing Sked. One of Sked's wildly swinging baseball-bat-like forearms made impact with the memorial diamond and sent it hurtling more than 80 metres through the air. It went smashing through the orphanage's huge top-storey window pane.

'Home run!' smiled Dementia. He had been studying Earth culture in anticipation of Alex's visit and had obviously taken a shining to baseball.

Traizon's soul went up in a puff of smoke along with Evooli. At that very moment, Willowood's golden heart medallion stopped beating. The battle was over. This evil villain had finally been destroyed. The Elkwoodian elf king could finally rest easy. Justice had been served. Although the Elkwoodian elf bloodline would still end when he eventually died, he now at least felt that their proud name had been avenged. He hoped that his actions would ensure that they would now be remembered in the annals of history. He could see the entry:

It was the young Elkwoodian elf king, Willowood, who inflicted the fatal blow on Traizon! His species may be gone, but they will never be forgotten!

Dementia was ever so proud of Willowood. He placed the young boy onto his shoulders and danced wildly. 'Long live King Willowood!' he cried.

The other allies joined in the chorus. 'Long live King Willowood!'

The Doolan dragons' hunger pains had also suddenly subsided. The horrible burning sensation that they had all felt constantly tug at their tummies was no longer present. The relief showed on their faces. They could finally eat to live rather than living to eat. They could finally get on with their lives.

The Burlian dragon slayers embraced their Doolan dragon compatriots and swore to never hunt them again. They would change their name to the Burlian iron workers and dedicate the rest of their lives to making some of the most amazing metalwork ever produced.

Although Frother had taken such an awful fall from the sky, he had survived fairly unscathed, thanks largely to the jelly cushioning his blow. He still had mild concussion and several nasty cuts and abrasions. But at least he would live to see another day. Sadly, his dragon slayer passenger, Sledimus, would not. Frother delicately picked Sledimus up and gently closed his eyelids.

'R-R-Rest e-e-easy my br-br-brave friend!' he cried. Large teardrops sizzled as they rolled down his oven hot cheeks.

The battlefield was scattered with many who had fallen in this quest for freedom and hope. Several Doolan dragons and their Burlian dragon slayer passengers could still be seen smouldering under the falling rain. Small piles of ash represented the spots where both Lentinas and Coolaboohs had been completely incinerated. Their ashes slowly penetrated deep into the soil, and would provide it with richness for future crops.

Dementia put his new tear ducts to work and had a long overdue cry. He wept like a baby for over 20 minutes. His tears were stained with both sorrow and joy: sorrow for the deceased and their loved ones, and joy for the exciting future that now lay ahead. Each new tear cleansed his soul and revitalised his resolve to never allow an evil force to become so powerful again.

When the rains finally stopped and the sun began to rise, 23 magnificent rainbows suddenly appeared. Each represented a fallen Sugar fairy. The rainbows washed away the sadness and filled everyone's hearts with hope. A new, optimistic dawn was now in sight.

Dementia blew into the beautiful Hundoondi horn with all his might. Its sound easily travelled the ten kilometres to the green pastures where the Friendlies had been requested to take shelter the night before. Its high-pitched echo filled the Friendlies' hearts with overwhelming joy. For it signified that the battle was over and that Traizon had finally been defeated. They could now return safely and start to rebuild their lives. Their burnt-down houses would soon be replaced. They would also help build many additional houses for their wonderful new neighbours, the Coolaboohs and the Lentinas.

Hairy was also awoken from his deep sleep by the Hundoondi horn's incredibly loud resonance. He felt slightly groggy but also totally psyched! Today was the big day. It was the day he got to stand side by side his companions as they fought with courage and bravery, to defeat the evil Traizon.

The anticipatory excitement had been too much for him to handle the night before and consequently, he had struggled to fall asleep until the very early hours of the morning. He had tried counting flies, but this did not work. He had tried spinning thick webs over his bedroom windows to darken the room, but this did not work either. So he gave up on sleep and spent the next few hours creating body armour for himself using a pile of discarded Lentina scales that he had painstakingly collected the day before.

He finally fell asleep at 4am and failed to hear the 4:30am call for all present to assume their positions on the battlefield. He was so tired by now that even the noise of the battle failed to stir him. It did not help that his button-hole ears were not very good amplifiers of sound. It was a huge miracle that not a single one of Traizon's fireballs hit the humble abode in which he was sleeping. All the houses around him were burnt to the ground.

Hairy stretched his 30 limbs, ate a few insects for breakfast, and then put on his Lentina scale armour. He said a quick prayer to the 'spider god' and then set off for the battlefield to join the battle that had already been fought and won.

'The battle is already over, Hairy!' smiled Majika. 'You slept through the entire thing, lazy bones!'

'It'th not poththible!' screamed Hairy. 'I jutht want one thwing at Twaizon, pleathe, jutht one thwing!'

As the Friendlies appeared from over the horizon, a little girl with an unusual knock-kneed running style and statically charged luminous-pink hair came running towards Willowood. It was Violeena – the Elkwoodian elf girl who had gone missing all those years ago.

'Your majesty!' she screamed with enormous excitement as she spotted Willowood's statically charged luminous-green hair.

Willowood was overcome with emotion. 'Violeena!' he screamed and hurriedly ran towards her. As their hands touched, he swept her off her feet and gave her an enormous embrace. He was no longer the last of the Elkwoodian elves. He now had a future mating partner. He now had a future queen – a _very_ 'hot' future queen. The Elkwoodian elf bloodline now had a really good chance of survival.

'How? When? Where?' he exclaimed excitedly.

Violeena bravely filled in all the painful gaps: The late Traizon had abducted her all of those years ago in the hope that her disappearance would cause the gentle-natured Elkwoodian elves to suspect their even gentler natured Golffbob neighbours of foul-play. He was certain his plan would work because the Golffbobs were the only neighbour of the Elkwoodian elves within a hundred-mile radius. He even scattered several items of Violeena's clothing deep into Golffbob territory in an attempt to frame them.

Traizon loathed both of these 'goody-two-shoes' tribes and would have loved to have seen them at each others' throats. His ploy failed dismally, though. Her disappearance only served to bring the two tribes closer together. The empathetic Golffbobs kindly sacrificed hundreds of hours also searching for Violeena.

Traizon was bitterly disappointed but decided nevertheless to keep Violeena as a permanent prisoner until such time as he decided what to do with her. He used a strong spell to cryogenically freeze her and then hid her in a remote cave deep in Tishy gnome territory. Due to other distractions, he then completely forgot about her, and over the years, thin layers of delicate trebulon crystal had grown around her frozen, motionless body.

The very moment that Traizon died, the strong spell that had kept Violeena frozen for all of those years was broken. Her eyes started to move, her heart began to pound, her diaphragm began to inflate and deflate, and her muscles began to twitch. The outwards pressure exerted by these body movements caused the delicate crystal surrounding her to shatter into a thousand pieces.

Despite still being pitch dark, and her muscles fairly atrophied, Violeena immediately left the cave and started her long journey back towards her beloved Elkwoodian territory. After about an hour of tiresome running, walking and dragging herself along the ground, she fortuitously stumbled upon the thousands of camping Friendlies at the outskirts of the Land of the Lonely. They provided her with food and shelter and filled her in on recent events.

She was devastated to hear that her entire tribe, with the exception of Prince, now King, Willowood had been decimated. She cried for her tribe, her parents, her siblings, and herself.

Willowood was very taken aback by her sad tale. He swore to protect her and make her happy for the rest of her life. Violeena raised her shoulders proudly. 'I will be strong from this point onwards, because the future of the Elkwoodian elves now depends on you and me!'

'Yes indeed!' blushed Willowood.

'For behind every great Elkwoodian King, stands a great Elkwoodian Queen!' smiled Violeena.

'Yes indeed!' blushed Willowood. He was in love.

### CHAPTER 21

### THE LAND OF HOPE

It was now Friday, 2pm. Only four days had passed since Traizon's demise. Already, most of the dead had been buried, the rubble had been cleared, a memorial to the fallen had been erected, and construction on the thousands of new houses was well underway. The citizens were all filled with hope and optimism. To reflect the positive mood and future aspirations of its citizens, the Land of the Lonely was renamed the 'Land of Hope'.

Dementia and Willowood were true to their word and set off to collect Alex McKenzie.

At exactly 2:01pm, on Friday 27th January 2007, they arrived to pick me up. Me, Alex McKenzie, your storyteller!

I was so pleased and relieved to see the ageing Soul wizard and young Elkwoodian orphan King again. Their appearance meant that the evil Traizon had been defeated. I knew this because Dementia had told me that they would only return to take me to the Land of the Lonely, if and when this hideous creature had been destroyed.

It therefore disturbed me greatly that Dementia looked so anxious and subdued. He made me feel as though I were in the company of the vanquished rather than the victor. His forehead was so deeply frowned that it resembled the thick rubber treading of a hiking boot. His jade-green eyes lacked their normal focus and he fidgeted nervously with the gismos and gadgets in his enormous pockets.

He was difficult to engage with and left most of the speaking to Willowood. Every time he did speak, he unconsciously pushed the tip of Old Faithful into his thick mop of Wobbit hair and twirled the hair around her Shrewd wood stem. It was like he was using Old Faithful as an enormous curling iron.

Midway through sentences, he would drift off and forget what he was saying. His mind was clearly a million miles away. Willowood had to repeatedly tap him on the shoulders to regain his attention. Between sentences, he continually bit down nervously on his bottom lip with such intensity that it left permanent teeth marks. I desperately wanted to know what was bothering this gentle Soul wizard so profoundly, but sensed that all would be revealed when the time was right.

Willowood, on the other hand, was far less reserved and much more relaxed than he had been during our first encounter. He looked like a kid who had overcome adversity and was now enjoying the spoils of victory. He no longer had that shell-shocked look on his face. It had been replaced by an air of happiness and confidence. He thoroughly enjoyed giving me a blow-by-blow account of the battle with Traizon. He removed his slingshot from his pocket and replayed the fatal shot with real pride in his eyes.

I was also relieved to hear from Willowood that all of their closest companions had survived. I would finally get to meet Majika, Frother, Hairy, Sked, Flufiel and Hildegard. I was absolutely delighted to hear about the unexpected discovery of Violeena. As Willowood spoke about her, his eyes sparkled. He was clearly smitten by her.

I was saddened to hear that quite a few Sugar Fairies, Doolan dragons, Burlian dragon slayers, Coolaboohs and Lentinas had died in the battle. Was it perhaps these losses that were still playing heavily on Dementia's mind?

I found the account of how Hairy had slept through the entire battle to be hysterical. Dementia warned me to never speak of it in front of the pumpkin shaped Glutton spider though, because he was still super sensitive about it. He felt as though he had let his entire team down.

I liked the new name, Land of Hope. It spoke of new beginnings and future potential. I envisioned with time, something emerging with a similar appearance to the Garden of Eden.

I must say that I found the journey to the Land of Hope to be a very surreal experience. One moment I was standing motionless in my secret cave in Tidley Creek, the next moment I was being propelled in all directions at enormous speed through pitch darkness towards a totally new world. My body was jerked around quite severely. I was filled with both fear and exhilaration at exactly the same time. It was like travelling on a blisteringly fast roller coaster whilst wearing a blindfold. It took a lot of self-restraint to stop myself from screaming.

This awkward feeling continued for what felt like about 30 seconds. In reality, it was no more than five seconds. Dementia assured me of this. He also apologised for the bumpy ride. Apparently, there is no way to predetermine whether or not a teleportation ride will encounter turbulence.

Suddenly, the darkness disappeared and was replaced by blinding brightness. As my eyes slowly adapted to their new environment, the Land of Hope began to reveal itself.

The impact of the recent battle was immediately obvious. Most of the houses had been reduced to rubble and most of the vegetation had been reduced to dust. The ground was black and charred. The air smelt sooty and swirling smoke burned my eyes.

Strange-looking creatures of varying descriptions were busily digging eight enormous holes. Each hole was about the size of an average backyard swimming pool. Sadly, I was soon to find out that these were for the eight fallen Doolan Dragons and their unfortunate Burlian dragon slayer companions. Much smaller holes that had already been covered over with soil, marked the graves of the brave Coolaboohs and Lentinas who had also given up their lives for the cause.

This vista of gloom was softened by 23 beautiful mini-rainbows that glistened through the smoke and filled the air with an incredible feeling of hope. Each represented one the 23 Sugar fairies who had died in the battle to defeat Traizon. Apparently these rainbows remain for up to a month after a fairy's death. The better their deeds whilst alive, the longer their rainbows last. I found this concept totally fascinating and spiritually uplifting.

However, nothing filled my heart with more hope than the sudden appearance of Majika, Frother and Hairy. I could not believe how small and petite Majika was and how enormous and broad Frother was. Hairy looked just the way I had expected. Majika was hovering just above Frother's enormous blue Mohawk. Her feathered wings were fluttering at a million miles an hour. She was dressed in a slinky black cobweb outfit that had been designed by the talented Hairy, and was wearing her signature stodgy black makeup and nail polish.

The edges of Majika's lips were stained maroon from sucking on Sugar Fruits all day. She had a half-eaten Sugar Fruit in her left hand and an untouched one protruding out of the top her fairy backpack. They looked almost identical to the small candy-cane sticks that my mum always buys us at Christmas time. I was dying to try one.

Majika was clearly very excited to meet me. Her face was filled with joy and her crystal blue eyes sparkled like well cut sapphires. Frother appeared to be quite shy and simply smiled at me reassuringly. Hairy was using Frother's body like his own private jungle gym. He was jumping from his nostrils, onto his forehead, and then back down to his nostrils again. I put this strange behaviour down to him being a little bit nervous; almost like a fight-flight reaction. He had obviously heard bad things about Earthlings.

'Welcome to the Land of Hope!' smiled Majika warmly in my direction. 'You must be Alex of Earth.'

'That... is me!' I smiled proudly.

I had never been addressed in this way before. I kind of liked it though. I thought 'Alex of Earth' had quite a regal ring to it. It was certainly much more exciting than Alex of Tidley Creek, Farmer Jonah's son, or plain old Alex McKenzie.

Majika suddenly swooped down and gave me a huge kiss on my right cheek. 'Welcome, Alex of Earth! Our newest companion!' she giggled.

I was not expecting this kiss and my face went beetroot red. Willowood later informed me that Sugar fairies are extremely affectionate and love handing out kisses to all their friends, no matter how recent the friendship is.

I was not used to being kissed by females' full stop! Now I was with a gothic, Barbie-doll-looking Sugar fairy who handed out kisses willy-nilly. The only females who had ever kissed me before this were my mother, Grace, and my younger sisters, Leah and Rachel. So I was taken by complete surprise.

Majika panicked as she saw my facial complexion change so dramatically and with such speed. 'I am awfully sorry!' she cried. 'I had no idea that Earthlings are allergic to Fairy contact! What are we going to do Dementia? What are we going to do?'

Dementia mumbled and fumbled frantically as he looked around for Old Faithful. He had forgotten that she was now permanently tied to his waist and hanging downwards in her Lentina scale sheath – a gift from Hildegard's grateful parents.

Hairy had been the only one to miss out on the recent battle with Traizon and desperately wanted to make up for it by doing something noble or heroic. He saw this situation as a perfect opportunity to redeem himself.

'Haiwy to the wescue!' he lisp-screamed and without warning, launched himself from the safety of Frother's enormous nose.

He landed plonk on the top of my ginger covered head. I can tell you first hand, that having ten kilograms of bright orange spider meat come crashing down on one's head is a very unpleasant experience.

However, it was nowhere near as unpleasant as the painful slaps to my face that followed from his 30 enormous limbs, all covered in hairs as coarse and sharp as those on a prickly pear. I felt like I had been whacked in the face by a flat Paddle cactus. His 30 limbs engulfed my entire face and I could hardly breathe. I felt intense claustrophobia and the start of a mega-panic attack.

Things became considerably worse for me though, as he pushed aside a few limbs from my right cheek in order to make way for his massive wobbling flamingo pink lips. He then started sucking with enormous power on my right cheek.

'Don't wowwy Alexth!' he lisped between sucks. 'I'm jutht thucking out the faiwy poithon!'

'I don't need help!' I cried. 'I am not allergic to fairies. I was just blushing because... because I've never been kissed by a fairy before!' Hairy begrudgingly released his lips from my cheek and sulkily returned to Frother's nose. 'You mean I thucked on that Earthling'th yucky cheek for _nothing_!' he screamed and spat outwards bitterly. Whilst I felt a little bit insulted by his comment and the antics that followed, I appreciated that I would probably feel exactly the same way if I had just sucked on his cheek for no particular reason. Hairy suddenly noticed the blood pouring from several of my pussy pimples that his sucking action had accidentally ruptured. At this point, it obviously occurred to him that he may have inadvertently poisoned himself on Earthling blood in the process.

'I'm feeling weally weak.' he lisped softly. His eyes rolled backwards and his head fell forwards. Poor Hairy had fainted. His willingness to be the hero would have to wait for another day.

Majika had only just returned from Flush Fleas yesterday. She had enjoyed a really emotional reunion with her family, friends, and Flopsy. When the excitable Wobbit spotted her, he performed three perfect somersaults and then hopped tight circles around her for the next five minutes. The trip home had also given her an opportunity to speak to the ancient Shrewd trees and to restock on 'grumpy-bum', Drudger worms.

Majika unzipped her little fairy purse and pulled out one of these juicy Drudger worms. She parted Hairy's lips and placed the Drudger worm into his mouth. Hairy's eyes opened wide the moment the delicious aroma awoke his taste buds. The look of excitement on Hairy's face was so funny that we all started laughing. The hot steam from Frother's laughter dried the wetness on my cheek that had been left by Hairy's moist lips. It also helped to stop my pimples from bleeding.

'I'm feeling much better!' smiled Hairy joyously. However, the look of joy turned to one of absolute shock, despair, and anguish as an unexpected hiccup caused him to accidentally swallow the Drudger worm whole. 'I jutht thwallowed it by mithtake!' he cried uncontrollably and covered his eyes. 'I didn't even get to enjoy itth heavenly, gooey juitheth. Why do thethe thingth alwayth happen to me! I'm feeling thick again!'

Hairy continued the masquerade of self pity and loath until such time as Majika finally capitulated and gave him another Drudger worm. 'Thank you tho much Majika!' he smiled. 'Hmm!' he thought to himself sneakily. 'Thee will never know if I pwetend to akthidently thwallow thith one ath well. I wonder how many more Dwudgers thee hath in that pretty faiwy purthe of herth?'

Hairy tested his theory, but despite an Oscar winning performance, Majika was no fool and cut him down to size. 'You obviously haven't heard the story about the Glutton Spider who cried, _Grogler Bird_!' she shouted in a reprimanding tone.

'No, thowwy!' replied Hairy in a confused but still hopeful tone. 'But it thounds like an awfully thcary thtory. Ith it a true thtory?'

'No Hairy... It's not a true story! It's just a fable... You know, a fictional story with a moral lesson attached!' continued Majika in her irritated teacher-like tone. 'The point is, if you keep telling lies, you eventually _won't_ be believed even when you are telling the truth! This particular Glutton spider had told so many lies in the past, that when he did in fact need help and cried out in desperation, nobody came to his aid because they thought he was lying yet again!'

'Poor little Glutton thpider!' thought Hairy to himself sadly. Tears welled up in his hazel eyes. 'Nobody helped him... How cwuel! How very, very cwuel!'

Hairy had clearly missed the point of the story.

'On Earth,' I added, 'we have a similar story about a young boy who cried wolf!'

'Intewesting Earthling Alexth! I bet thith young boyth family and fwiends came to hith rescue... Unlike my cwuel, cwuel lot!'

'You're missing the point Hairy!' shouted Majika. 'They never came to his aid because—' 'Ok, Ok! Enough alweady!' screamed Hairy in frustration. He had heard as much as he wanted to and decided to return to the business at hand. 'Does all of thith mean that I get another Dwudger or not?'

Dementia took me on a trip of the 'New Territory'. This is the area where all the new homes were being constructed. In the very centre proudly stood the magnificent Orphanage of Love. It had escaped the final battle completely unscathed. It looked more like a children's fantasy land than a traditional orphanage. The walls were brightly coloured in various hues of yellow, orange, pink, blue, and green. In its gardens stood massive double-storey cubby houses with thick climbing ropes connecting them to each other.

Dementia introduced me to his friend Wertheimer, the town planning and housing construction manager all rolled into one. I must admit, it took all of my concentration to remain focused on his head rather than its neighbouring backside, as he spoke. He just looked _so_ odd. Had his exposed bum cheeks been covered over with underpants or shorts, I would have no doubt coped much better than I did – but they weren't.

A million 'fart' and 'smelly breath' jokes cruelly swarmed my immature, juvenile mind. It took a lot of self-restraint to prevent myself from exploding like a 'Giggling Gertie'. I so desperately wanted to grab hold of one of those thick marker pens and draw facial features on this blank, fleshy canvass.

Wertheimer's teams of Friendlies were busily sketching drawings of how the houses and buildings in new Land of Hope would look. The pictures showed beautiful, yet humble looking double storey houses. According to the diagrams, each house was going to be painted in a unique hue.

'All up, there will be 2000 different colours!' smiled Wertheimer. 'The different colours will symbolise the fact that although we are all different from one another, together, we all harmonise like a rainbow!'

It was certainly a very strong metaphor and would make for a dazzling display. I could not wait to see the finished product. The diagrams also showed that every street would be lined with fruit trees of varying descriptions. Some of the fruits looked very weird and wonderful. My favourite was the fruit of the Grin tree. Its fruits look like a set of big smiling lips – like two red coloured Siamese twin bananas. Every front yard would have a sizeable vegetable patch and herb garden. Several kids play areas were also being designed. Large areas of common land had been set aside for growing crops and rearing livestock.

As we walked around, I viewed more than a thousand houses at various stages of completion. A myriad of different creatures were hard at work. I correctly guessed that the fluffy white soccer balls were Coolaboohs and that the blue shimmering broad beans were Lentinas.

An enormous creature with thick curly brown hair was assisting them with a lot of the heavier work. He looked like a permed version of Bigfoot. I watched him lift an enormous roof beam into the air as if it were made of polystyrene. I did not even need to see his caring aquamarine eyes to know it was Sked.

Dementia introduced me to Sked and despite his head unconsciously retracting slightly into his chest cavity, he smiled warmly. His eyes spoke of peace and goodwill. Sked called out the names 'Flufiel' and 'Hildegard'.

One of the soccer balls with particularly luscious black lips and the warmest of brown puppy-dog eyes wobbled its way towards us. It was followed close behind by a very slim Banana in shimmering-blue scale Pyjamas, who walked so strangely that it resembled someone trying to do the goose step whilst walking barefoot through a field of thorns.

It was great to finally meet Hildegard and Flufiel. Both had dared to stand up for what they believed to be right. They had risked their lives in the pursuit of freedom and a better life. They had also fought bravely on the battlefield. They now had the opportunity to create their own destinies and were taking it with open hands.

Flufiel and Hildegard were both very excited to meet me and made me feel most welcome. I must confess that I found it extremely difficult to understand everything that they said, though – especially when they spoke at exactly the same time. It was like having a conversation with one of those squeaky voiced Furby toys in triple time whilst also trying to listen to Eeyore from Winnie the Pooh in slow time. I immediately thought about my sheepdog, Jessie, who is always trying to catch one tennis ball in her mouth whilst her mouth is still occupied by another. I now shared her frustration at trying to do two conflicting things at once.

Dementia explained how everyone had an important role to play in the building of the new Land of Hope. The Coolaboohs were responsible for filling the mud brick moulds with the correct mix of mud and dried out grass. It was the perfect job for them because they stood only slightly higher than the mud brick moulds. So they did not have to bend down at all.

The Lentinas were strong and tall and very experienced bricklayers. They had been slave-driven bricklayers for years under the dictatorship of the nasty Riboltians – Sked being a notable exception. It was different now, though. They were no longer building lavish houses for ungrateful dictators. They were now building humble houses for themselves and the other grateful citizens of the Land of Hope. They were building because they wanted to, not because they were being forced to.

As each new layer of bricks and mortar went up on each house, Dementia would move from one construction site to the next, saying blessings designed to protect the structures from evil magic. His young nephew, Zoola, was acting as his apprentice. To Dementia's annoyance, instead of his new charge concentrating fully on this complex chant, Zoola's thoughts continually drifted towards the gorgeous Majika.

Frother and three other Doolan dragons – on loan courtesy of King Flambay – were hard at work baking the mud bricks. It was a spectacular sight to watch them breathing out huge flame after huge flame. Frother clearly took great pride in his job. His flames were more ferocious and lasted far longer than any of the other Doolan dragons. Not a bad effort for a dragon who had spent most of his life flameless!

Majika was once again hard at work, flying over the shallow trenches that had been meticulously prepared by the Friendlies and dropping seeds at intervals of half a metre. She was accompanied by Twinkledust, Honeypop, and Wandina.

Majika's mind also continually drifted as she thought about Zoola. 'What a spunk!' she thought and fluttered her wings towards him suggestively, whenever his indigo-blue eyes met hers.

'Please concentrate on the job at hand Majika!' shouted Twinkledust after narrowly missing crashing into the back of her younger, daydreaming sister. 'I don't feel like having a midair collision!'

It is impossible for me to describe all the Friendlies to you. It would be like trying to describe every stamp in a large stamp album. Let me just say that they ranged dramatically in size, colour, shape, and conflagration. Despite being such a diverse and eclectic group, they shared one thing in common that far outweighed appearances – a desire to live in peace and harmony.

Hairy of course, was lounging on a large rock, polishing off a skewer that contained a variety of disgusting insects. He had fashioned the skewer from one of the abandoned long spines of an oversized porcupine-like creature, called a Pollaver. Every time anyone would come within eyeshot of him, the conniving pumpkin spider would quickly conceal the skewer in a crack in the rock, clutch at his stomach dramatically and scream out, 'Oh dear, the pain in my thtomach ith unbeawable!' In this way, he avoided lifting a finger – other than to hold his skewer!

Majika, Hairy and Frother had made a commitment to stay on in the Land of Hope until it had been properly rebuilt and established. They would then all return to Flush Fleas. Dementia had decided that he would live out the rest of his life here. He would make sure that all the orphans were well looked after and raised as good citizens. He would also do his best to protect all citizens from any evil forces that may try to encroach in the future.

Willowood and his delightful Violeena would remain in Dementia's care until such time as they were old enough to tie the knot and start procreating. They would return to Elkwood castle every six months to keep it from falling into disrepair and also to keep up relations with their friendly Golffbob neighbours. King Luticious had kindly offered to maintain its enormous grounds and to keep an eye out for any unwelcome visitors.

Sked also intended to stay on forever in the Land of Hope. He had no desire whatsoever to return to his evil kind in the land of Riboltia. Rather, he envisaged himself spending his work days planting trees and sowing vegetables, and his weekends painting the new landscape that he would help create. He could not wait to plant the hundreds of Gold tree seeds that a Doolan dragon named Doodle Breath had kindly brought back for him after a recent hunting expedition in the land of Riboltia.

He also dreamed of creating a large stream that would run through the centre of town. He would need to discuss this with Wertheimer and his team of town planners. It would be a massive job, but nobody seemed to be afraid of hard work. Perhaps they could even set aside some funds to employ the services of the gigantic Wolly worms to do this for them.

Wolly worms are the largest known creature to exist in the greater universe. They are all over 100 metres long and the same diameter as your average train tunnel. They make easy work of creating deep ditches for future streams. Their heads are the shape of a drill bit and their bodies are the shape of a corkscrew. Their skin is as tough as stone and resembles the sharp corrugations that adorn the outsides of stainless-steel cheese graters. It allows them to effortlessly slice their way through the toughest of soils.

I was having so much fun, that I completely failed to keep my eye on the time. This lack of focus came with the territory of being an excited day dreamer. I was totally caught up in my new world. In my defence, (well sort of) Dementia had promised to inform me when it was time to go. He, of course, had also become side-tracked and forgotten to do so.

It was only when Willowood pointed out the time that both Dementia and I panicked. It was already 5:15pm and I was meant to be home for Friday night dinner by 5pm. My parents would be worried sick as to my whereabouts by now.

I hurriedly said my farewells to all and then Dementia performed his magic. The rollercoaster ride home was far less severe. We had obviously encountered very little turbulence. I arrived at the isolated cave at 5:17pm. Dementia and Willowood promised to pick me up at 2pm next Friday. We would be visiting Flush Fleas!

How was I going to survive a whole week without seeing these exciting creatures? I pondered this as I made my way home and worked on some sort of lame excuse to account for my late arrival. I could not believe that my parents fell for the old, 'my watch wasn't working properly' excuse. I had set my imitation Rolex back an entire hour and simply showed them its shiny face to prove my case.

'So in fact, I arrived home more than half an hour early!' I lied to them with a straight face. I would have to be more careful in future though, because as our parish priest often said in his grim voice, 'Lies always eventually catch up with you!'

Whilst I sat down for a delicious home-cooked meal and reflected on my fascinating day, Dementia rocked restlessly in his favourite armchair. Only hours after the demise of Traizon, Dementia had made two extremely disturbing discoveries which he was still keeping to himself and bearing the heavy burden for alone. He decided not to share the distressing details with anyone else – at least not yet – because he did not want to put a dampener on everything positive that had been achieved over the last few days in the Land of Hope. Its citizens all deserved a break from fear and dread.

The first troubling discovery was that Traizon's memorial diamond which Sked had smashed through the top storey window of the orphanage had been _stolen_! The second, and arguably more disturbing, discovery was the small bunches of distinctive looking, black grape-like feathers that he had found at and around the crime scene. Only the legendary Flying Assassins, more commonly known as Cabats (Cat Bats) had feathers that looked like this.

He pondered how this could be, though. The last of these evil creatures were known to have become extinct over 400 years ago when the dark period known as 'The Days of the Black Vibrating Clouds' finally ended!

How had they managed to suddenly reincarnate themselves and why would they want Traizon's memorial diamond anyway? Had they deliberately left a few of their distinctive bunches of feathers as an ominous calling card, or had these simply fallen out accidentally? He suspected the former.

Given these startling discoveries, there was only one option. He would need to make a hasty visit to his best friend ever, Old Fuzzy, and his adorable Dragon dogs. 
