Serial Saturday: "A Writer's Tale," Part 12

I was so used to being everywhere else—a spaceship, a western town, a fantasy world, and a castle, to name a few—that ending up at last in a city felt still very much like a foreign, fictional world to me. Everyone I passed gave me weird looks, and when I passed a darkened window, I suddenly realized why: I still wore the dress Gaelynn had given me.

"Embarrassed," I murmured to myself, and it was certainly true, "she realized the wardrobe malfunction and quickly changed into something more suitable to the time and place she now occupied." Now I wore a sort of business-casual outfit, being jeans, boots, a blouse, a vest, and a leather blazer. I smiled; this was more like it. I decided to wander around and try to find out more about this place, and what could be so unique about it. I stepped into a coffee shop; it looked normal enough. I was nearing the counter, ready to order, when I realized one small hitch: I did not have a purse. Of course, I knew the remedy for this already. Under my breath, I whispered, "Going inside, she bought a coffee."

Instantly, I held a steaming cup in my hand, a coordinating purse hung from my shoulder—and no one in the building knew anything out of the ordinary! I calmly walked out of the coffee shop and, spying a newsstand on the curb in front of me, I went over to get a feel for my setting.

Nothing in my previous adventures prepared me for what I read, but then, it came as no surprise, either.

PHANTASMIC CITY SAVED AGAIN! GERONIMO AND STORMGALE HONORED IN PUBLIC CEREMONY!

I seized the paper and gawked at the photograph. If you took Captain Stormy and Sheriff Jerry and dressed them in spandex uniforms, they would verily look exactly like the two people I saw in the photo. They stood proudly amid the rubble of some great battle, hardly a stain on the brightly-colored costumes they wore.

Superheroes! I couldn't believe it! Apparently some underworld overlord had tried to take over the city, and these two had stopped them, Geronimo because he was impervious and thus unstoppable, and Stormgale with her control of the elements. I wondered who their arch-nemesis was, or if the arch-nemesis existed at this point in the narrative.

I kept walking through the city. It looked just like a city in the real world. There were grungy hobos begging on the curb, there were the powerful executives trying to find the subway station. There were the kids taking their time on their way home from school. I was grateful to see that at least in this world there weren't as many people giving me the stinkeye as I gazed around at everything I passed. I came to a large city park that had many tree-shaded paths and a large gazebo and fountain at the center. I overheard a group of college-age students speaking and paused to listen unobtrusively.

"—at any rate, I don't see why there should still be four of them. Geronimo and Stormgale are perfectly capable of handling anything a villain could dish out, all by themselves." One young man finished his speech by pushing the thick glasses up his nose yet again.

"Hey, no fair!" the girl standing next to him whined, "Marksman has always been my favorite, ever since he—"

"Oh jeez, not the purse story again!" A jock standing next to her pretended to gag.

"It's true!" her friend interposed. "I saw him leave the alley where he dumped the thief, and then he just vanished! I believe you, Prissy!"

"I'm just saying," Glasses interjected yet again, "Stormgale and Geronimo are the real heroes; Marksman and Shellie are never going to be anything much."

His comment hung in the air, until Prissy spoke again. "Do you think it's true?"

Glasses looked at her, "What is?"

"That the time of the superheroes is coming to an end."

Jock waved his hands, "I really don't see how that could happen; I mean, what else are they going to do?"

"Hey Priss," her friend glanced at her cell phone and looked up, "We need to get to the mall if we want to meet up with Brianna in time."

Prissy nodded, "See you later, guys!"

"Bye!" Glasses and Jock chorused. They too departed the area.

I moved on, thinking about what I had just heard. The news article hadn't mentioned the other two superheroes at all. I wondered what their powers were. Marksman, at least sounded something like Bullseye, someone with quick reflexes and pinpont accuracy, but the fourth one—if her name was Shellie, it certainly wasn't descriptive at all. Maybe she was like Rogue, of the X-Men, and had a power that could not be put into a cool superhero name for her. But why wouldn't they be as impressive as the other pair?

At any rate, I knew I needed to find these superheroes. Or perhaps I needed them to find me. I smiled; I knew at least one of them was an expert at catching purse-snatchers. And I had a purse just ripe for the snatching.

I walked deliberately in front of a panhandler and made a grat big show of holding my purse loosely at my side as I hailed a cab. Sure enough, he nearly jerked my arm out of it's socket as he lunged for my purse and dashed around the corner.

"Stop thief!" I shrieked, running after him, stumbling pitifully all the way, of course. "That man took my purse!" I yelled as I charged down the sidewalk in pursuit, "Someone help me!"

He ran around a corner, and I began to hope that now one of the heroes would come rescue me. I charged after him—and nearly bowled over a dashing young man wearing a dark wool trenchcoat and holding my purse. The hobo who had taken it lay unconscious on the sidewalk. The man extended the purse to me, the wind rippling through his thick dark hair as his piercing green eyes sparkled.

"Is this yours?" he asked warmly.

I didn't have to fake my shock, but I knew if it was one of the heroes I would need to show proper respect to gain access to the rest.

"Thank you so much!" I gushed, catching my breath and accepting my purse. "You're a hero!"

The man smiled, "Yes, I am."

My heart nearly jumped into my throat. "You are one of the heroes?" I inquired.

The man raised an eyebrow and chuckled, "Not quite; unfortunately I am a hero by opportunity, not by profession."

"Oh," I felt my cheeks burn. Here I was expecting that the only people to do good deeds in this city would be the ones with super-powers, and my purse had just been returned by a simple Good Samaritan! "Thank you," I said, and turned to walk back out to the street.

It took me several blocks to recover my composure. As soon as I did, I immediately began mulling over where exactly I could find the heroes.

"If I was part of a group of superheroes," I murmured, "I would be..."

I thought carefully; Geronimo was very good-looking and most likely enjoyed the high-profile life. To me that said something like a penthouse; heck, maybe they had a whole highrise to themselves! I started scanning the upper floors of the buildings I passed.

Stormgale, with her control of the elements, would probably want something with a terrace, or at least plenty of windows. I started looking for the more modern-style buildings. Marksman, with extreme accuracy as his superpower, would probably prefer a place with optimal vantage points, in a key area of the city. I stopped on a corner near the City Hall and scanned down the various streets, muttering the description under my breath as I searched for a building that best suited it.

"Tall, modern building, glass penthouse, terrace garden, central—"

I spotted it. Down the street to my left stood a lofty skyscraper, modern design, and just a hint of a garden on the terrace. Of course it was nearly impossible to see into the penthouse—but didn't that make it the perfect headquarters?

I moseyed down the sidewalk toward the building in question. Everyone around me was so incredibly normal that it was almost hard to remember that this was a fictional universe in which superheroes existed.

I reached the corner in front of the tall building. It was called The Spire. That certainly sounded like a high-end apartment to me. I surveyed the territory.

A doorman stood under the awning at the front door. To the left of the building was the parking garage. I figured I wouldn't get too far past the stony-faced man out front, so I quickly darted across the street and strolled into the parking garage. I paused just inside the door, but it did not appear that anyone noticed me. The gate was even automated, no one sat in the tiny square booth at the center.

I walked up the steep ramp to the first level of the garage. At the end of the long double-row of cars, I saw an elevator designated with a sign "To The Spire." I was in!

An engine revved next to me. I quickly skirted the bumper and headed for the elevator, but the car pulled out and headed toward me! I broke into a run. Maybe I could reach the elevator in time—

A second car backed out of its slot just ahead of me, and I couldn't stop in time. I slammed into the side at full speed and blacked out.

I came to in total darkness. I felt a chair beneath me, but I could not move my arms or legs. I felt a hood over my face. I listened as hard as I could, but heard only silence.

"What are you doing here?"

The voice came so close and so sudden that were I not tied down I probably would have hit the roof.

The hood split open just in front of my mouth, and I eagerly gulped fresh air.

Something tightened against my chest.

"Don't make me ask again, why are you here?" I could not find my voice before she continued, "We know you were looking for us; are you in league with the Madman? What is he planning?"

"I—"

"How close is he to finishing the Madness Ray? Where has he hidden it? Tell us now! He can't hide from us forever. We've protected the city so far! We know he claims to provide freedom from the need for superheroes, but the truth is that it will be a result of his controlling everyone's minds himself!"

"What is going on here?"

The voice that cut into hers was infinitely more powerful, echoing as if in a large room. A massive hand yanked the hood off my face. I squinted against the bright light.

Four people stood in front of me. Geronimo, the brawny, tall hero, wearing jeans and a dark tee shirt that showed off every inch of muscle. Beside him stood Stormgale, lithe, regal, and dangerous as a Russian prima ballerina. The other two—

I gasped at the young man standing next to Stormgale.

"You're the hobo who stole my purse!" I cried.

Marksman snorted, "Stole? You practically dropped it in my lap! I only pulled it off because obviously you wanted me to take it!"

I turned to the other guy, standing next to Geronimo. It was the same man who had returned the purse to me! Then who had been speaking to me just now?

I glanced at Stormgale, but she was glaring at the second young man.

"Shellie," she reprimanded him, "Whatever you're up to, stop it now!"

I blinked, and suddenly before me stood a young woman who looked almost exactly like the man who had been standing in her place. Almost—except for the fact that she was a girl.

Shellie's power was shape-shifting! So, not like Rogue, I thought, but more like Mystique.

Stormgale approached me and crossed her arms.

"Now, stranger," she said, "Tell us who you are."

"My name is Laura," I answered.

"Does the Madman know you're here?" Shellie's eyes gleamed as she pressed her own assumptions.

I shook my head, "You have nothing to fear from me. I don't know anything about the Madman. I only just arrived in the city."

Marksman tried to save face as the older pair glared with disapproval at the youngers. "Why were you looking for us, then? Why try to find us? And how did you know where to look?"

Geronimo walked around behind my chair and snapped my bonds at one pull. I massaged life back into my limbs to stall while I tried to formulate a reply. I mean, there was no way I was going to tell them I had nearly invented their hideout without their realizing it.

"I heard people talking about you," I explained, telling only the truth and as little as possible. "I wanted to meet you because I am here to help you."

"Help!" Geronimo boomed, laughing so loudly that his voice echoed around the vaulted ceilings. "We're superheroes! We don't need help!"

"Oh yes, you do," I countered, a little bolder now. "I know that your enemy, the Madman, has a plan, but you don't know where he is, who he has working for him, or when he plans to strike."

My words brought instant silence. All the heroes stood warily, watching to see if I would do something unexpected.

"How do you know all this?" Stormgale asked.

I nodded toward the stricken young girl at her side. "She said so, while I was tied up."

"Shellie," Geronimo growled sternly, glaring at the young woman.

Shellie looked from one to the other like a cornered mouse between two cats.

"It was Marks' idea!" she whimpered.

Stormgale whirled on Marksman. A tendril of ivy splayed from her hand and crept toward him.

"Watch it!" He batted the vine away, "I just thought she was being way too obvious, so I figured she must know something."

"Yeah," Geronimo snorted, "Especially after you bring her here to the Spire and tell her everything we know!"

Stormgale sighed, "All right, everybody huddle."

I watched the four heroes group together at the side of the room. I saw some soft-looking couches, but the minute I moved to go take a seat, a thin cord with weighted ends wrapped around my ankles. Another cord, longer and thicker, wrapped around my chest and pinned my arms.

"Stay there," Marksman ordered, looking none too happy about the current situation.

They spoke in low tones so I couldn't eavesdrop, nor could I move, wrapped in the cords as I was. I waited a long while. Finally, the four heroes surrounded me, Stormgale behind me, Geronimo in front of me, and Marksman and Sherrie on my right and left.

Geronimo nudged Shellie.

"Sorry for lying to you and kidnapping you," she muttered.

Stormgale punched Marksman in the shoulder; or rather, she went for it, but he saw the hit coming and dodged.

"Sorry for running you down with the car and tying you up."

"Speaking of tying..." Geronimo glanced suggestively at the cords now restraining me. Marks gave a sharp pull in a certain direction, and the cords came loose.

Geronimo extended his hand. "If you're going to stay here, we'd like to know your name."

I struggled to keep from grimacing under his crushing grip. "It's—I'm, uh, Laura," I stammered.

Stormgale smiled and gave me a small courtesy hug. "Welcome, Laura."

"Wait," I didn't understand the sudden change of attitude. "You're letting me stay here?"

Marksman shook his head, "Can't have you running around unsupervised. Not with everything you know." He sneered pointedly at me.

"And especially not after everything you've seen," Stormgale nailed both Marksman and Shellie with a pointed stare.

"Shellie," Geronimo rapped out quickly, "Get Laura a room and meet us in the Situation Station." He turned away without making eye contact.

Shellie looked like a kicked dog. "Follow me, Laura."

I did, and she led me to another larger room adjacent to the main penthouse, with several rooms leading off of it.

"This one will be yours," she opened a door for me.

Shellie walked over to a console and began swiping through screens.

"This room is equipped with state-of-the-art custom environment technology. Anything about this room that can be controlled is done from here: temperature, lighting, shades, entertainment, the works. If you need anything, go to this menu and order it. Whatever you want will be delivered to this door." She pointed to a second door that looked like an alternate entrance to the room. "Bear in mind that this door," she pointed to the one we entered, "is for going in and out of the room. That one is for deliveries only."

I tested out the bed. "This is soft," I remarked gratefully.

Shellie rolled her eyes. "You're not here for merit, you know." She sighed, "Yeah, I realize it's Marks' and my fault for bringing you up here without checking first, but really, we're not letting you stay here as much as we're intending now to keep you prisoner here."

I blinked. "You mean—"

She smirked, "What has been seen cannot be unseen," she quipped, "so now that you are the first civilian to see our digs—"

"With a hero like Geronimo? I highly doubt that!"

"Ahem! The first civilian to see our real digs," she amended, "you now cannot leave without our permission."

"But feel free to participate in our family discussions," Geronimo's grinning face appeared on the console. "All settled, Laura? Come on down!"

Shellie and I went back through the penthouse into a room that looked like a cross between a laboratory and a surveillance bank. Monitors, test tubes, maps, chemicals, weapons cache, and steel worktables spread across a room the size of a football field.

Stormgale and Geronimo were looking over some data on a screen and discussing it.

"—But if that's so, why would he get a shipment of swamp coolers?" Stormgale was saying.

Geronimo waved his hand, "Red herring, Storm. I am pretty certain that the Madness Ray is coming into full capacity, and if we can locate it somewhere in Europe, we can stop the apocalypse before it happens."

Marksman came forward and scanned the holographic map. Red blips flashed at various points over the terrain. I watched as he tapped on a few of those dots and scrolled through the news reports about suspicious activity going on in all these areas. I saw him scan certain areas with keen interest, much like King Marcus poring over the map of Phantasia.

Geronimo still argued with Stormgale.

"I'm telling you, the strike is coming!"

"Don't you think I know that? Chatter in the Middle East has intensified, and my sources are saying that more and more known hideouts are turning up empty and strongholds left unguarded: in the Amazon, the Arctic, China, Russia, Africa..."

"There."

Both heroes looked up in surprise at the unmistakable certainty in Marksman's voice.

"Where?" Stormgale asked.

Marksman made a stretching motion with his hands to expand the map in one area, just off the coast of Norway. He used a prying motion to bring the terrain closer to him, highlighting one particular mountain peak. He pinched the image, and a blinking red dot appeared on the west side of the mountain.

"More precisely," he added, "It's here."

"No way," Stormgale shook her head. "If he were hiding out in Norway, we would know."

"You do know," Marksman replied evenly. "You've been tracking his movements, haven't you? All the shipments, the workers—"

"None of them ever suggested Norway."

"Oh did they?" Marksman backed the map out to a view of all the continents, with the several red dots highlighting suspicious activity. He entered some information into the computer, and a host of red lines appeared, connecting all the dots—and every one of them crossed the dot in Norway.

"And from there it's a clear shot to Phantasmic City." Marksman crossed his arms, smiling judiciously.

Geronimo leaped to action. He grabbed a communicator. "All teams move in on Norway, Mount—" he hesitated before totally butchering the pronunciation of the name. "Madman is—Yes, I'm aware of that! I'm telling you now, everyone go—well of course I understand! Get your team out of the Vatican and GO CLIMB THAT MOUNTAIN." He slammed down the receiver and turned to Stormgale.

"Storm, you and I will suit up," he said. "We'll join the team in Norway as soon as we can get there."

"Can I come too?" Marksman reached for his bow.

"Not a chance, Skippy,” Geronimo stopped him scornfully. “You wouldn’t do us any good, anyhow. Everyone knows I’m the only one who will be able to get close enough to disable the Ray gun.” He jerked his thumb in the direction of Stormgale, just emerging in her super-suit. “Storm is my diversion. Now you and Shellie stay here and hold the fort.” He turned and caught sight of me. “Oh,” he added, “and keep an eye on the girl.” Geronimo left the room chuckling, and the three of us—Marksman, Shellie, and I—stood watching the empty door.

Shellie and I jumped as Marksman launched a paper wad through the air and into a trashcan at the far side of the room, nailing the lid with a resounding clang.

“This is incredibly not fair!” Shellie fumed. Marksman said nothing, but marched over to the monitors tracking the two heroes’ movements. Already they were halfway across the Atlantic.

“Yeah, well,” Marksman muttered bitterly, “I can’t say I’m surprised. Geronimo and Stormgale have done all the big hero work in Phantsmic City for so long, what chance do heroes like us have?”

Finally, Geronimo and Stormgale landed at the mountain peak. The surveillance kept close tabs on them as they snuck around the outer defenses (behind a fog created by Stormgale) and into the heart of the Madman’s lair.

We watched as Stormgale and Geronimo progressed through the maze of halls, silencing every minion they saw before any of them could make a sound. Swiftly and surely, they disabled all defenses. Any time a door or a gun confronted them, Geronimo smashed through it. Any time a minion thought to alert the rest of his unit, Stormgale blasted them with fire or tied them up with vines. At last, they came through one last door, and it opened into a room just like the Situation Station.

“Ah, heroes!” a sinister voice mused, “How kind of you to join us!”

Instantly, the two of them were set upon by hundreds of minions. It was truly an amazing sight to see Geronimo tossing bodies about as if they were made of paper, and Stormgale creating a confusion of roots and vines and blocks of ice as she kept the minions at bay. We saw the onslaught of minions separate the two of them, as each was forced to do battle on their own. They drifted further and further apart, so it became more difficult for us to watch both of them at the same time. Madman had already inundated his forces with the Madness Ray, so he only had to sit back and watch his minions do the work. He taunted Geronimo and Stormgale.

“You didn’t think I’d just sit back and wait to be arrested, did you? I have been planning this for months, I know exactly how to defeat you! You cannot stop me, not after all I have done to arrive at this, my final moment! This weapon has been tested enough; you have seen what I can do with it. Now imagine an entire city under my control. Imagine an entire nation! There will be no more fighting, no more wars, no more senseless killings, no more crimes—because everyone will be doing only what I tell them to! Oh dear,” he clucked his tongue, “You know what that would mean for heroes like you. No criminals to apprehend, no disasters to avert—you’d be out of a job! What will you do when you don’t have hero-work to accomplish? No one would need you—how boring!”

His words accomplished exactly what he wanted them to. The three of us were so wrapped up in watching the devastating effect of the Madman’s words on Geronimo’s ego, that we were just as oblivious to everything as he was until Stormgale screamed, “Geronimo, HELP!”

He turned around, but they were too far apart. He was too late to rescue her before the flood of minions herded her into a giant silver sphere. It clamped shut around her, and though it was evident from the noises that she was doing everything in her power to escape, not even a crack showed on the surface of the sphere.

“Oh my!” Madman exclaimed with glee. “Did you lose something, Geronimo? Oh, how unlucky!” His voice gave us all the chills. What would Geronimo do now?

Next>>>>> 

Serial Saturday: "A Writer's Tale", Part 11

--> “Oh, Chilly,” Gaelynn still thought of him as a clown and a fool, and so was scared to be alone with him in a dark hallway, “We are just—Laura and I, we were trying to find—“

            “The forest?” he finished, grinning horribly at her with a high-pitched giggle. “You’re running away from the king, are you? You won’t bother to ask him, and Chilly knows why! Your father’s gone deaf, has he? His poor mind has turned to stone, and his heart, and soon his whole self will be stone. A stone king on a golden throne, with none to make him flesh again!”

            Gaelynn was fairly quaking in fear now, sobbing uncontrollably.

            “Wait a minute,” I spoke to him, “you said we couldn’t face the forest without you.”

            Chilly bowed with a flourish, “This is true; none in the castle knows the forest like a fool!”

            I smiled, catching his meaning, “But you never said anything about how wrong we were to be running away ourselves.”

            Chilly said nothing, only smiled at me with an intelligent glint in his eye.

            “Gaelynn,” I said to the sobbing princess, “There is a key somewhere here. We must find it.”

            “There has not been a key to this door,” Chilly remarked, speaking as plainly as he had to me in the king’s court.

            “There must be,” I told him stubbornly, knowing that the mere statement of the fact from my mouth made it true, “I say that there is.”

            “I think I’ve found it,” Gaelynn remarked, and she drew from a chink in the wall a large, thick key that undoubtedly fit into the lock on the door. She inserted it, and we all heard the loud click as the bolt turned.

            Chilly was staring at me as we proceeded down the tunnel. I heard his whisper echoing around me in the darkness. “She speaks, and it is so. The words, as good as written, flow. If anything happened, the writer would know.” I shivered at their significance; had Chilly guessed my singular ability?

            “Laura,” Gaelynn whispered, groping for my hand in the darkness, “where does this tunnel lead us?”

            I tried to remember what it had been like when I had first arrived, and had my first glimpse of the battlefield.

            “The tunnel lets out just behind the Black Fox’s camp,” I said, “southwest of the castle.”

            “Then to get to the Deep Forest,” Chilly supplied, as we traveled easier down the arm of the tunnel that led to the opening, “we will need to travel east.”

            I stopped and looked at the man—for I could no longer call him a fool when he very evidently was not one. In the light of the tunnel mouth, I could see that his face had changed. He no longer wore the exaggerated, vacant expression he plastered over his face as the king’s jester. He met my gaze boldly.

            “What?” he asked.

            I smiled, “You sound like a forester, yourself,” I guessed.

            Gaelynn gasped, “Chilly is Jerald?” she shrieked in amazement.

            Chilly instantly shook his head, “Nay; if I was Jerald I would have made myself known by now. Do you not recall, princess? Jerald was banished from the castle only after I entered the King’s service.”

            “Banished?” I asked. “What had he done?”

            Chilly (I felt bad calling him that now, but he had no other name that I knew of) shrugged, “Something to cause him to fall from grace long before that. I was one of his band, we lived in the skirts of the forest and stopped corruption from entering the castle for many years. Then the queen—“ he stopped and glanced to Gaelynn, leaving that sentence unfinished. “Something happened and Jerald was no longer well-received by the king. We were disbanded, and Jerald himself asked me to get a post in the king’s court, to watch over the king for him.”

            “Because of the councilors,” I concluded.

            Chilly nodded, “Aye; snakes, every one of them! For an unlearned man such as I, though, the only post I could get that would place me by the king’s side every day as Jerald wanted was that of a fool. So I came, singing and dancing, as Chilly.” He performed a little caper to demonstrate his capacity. He bowed to us, and Gaelynn clapped appreciatively, wiping the tears from her cheeks.

            “My true name is Charlie,” he told us.

            “Charlie,” I murmured. The name didn’t surprise me. He looked very like and older version of the cabin boy I’d befriended in another world.

            “Do you know where we can find Jerald?” Gaelynn asked as we slunk out of the tunnel into the trees right behind the backs of the Black Fox and his army.

            “I’m afraid I’ve lived in the castle much like you, Highness,” Charlie sighed. “The woods have grown dark and treacherous since the days when the foresters roamed their paths. Much like—“ he dropped off with an abashed glance in the direction of the castle, and to Gaelynn.

            “Much like the king’s courts, you were going to say?” I asked him as we began walking, freer now that we were some distance away from the camp.

            Charlie smiled ruefully and ducked his head. “You are a smart woman, Laura. You have hit upon the very reason I obeyed Jerald’s request to stay by the king. He has grown overused to listening to the counsel of greedy men, and time has only increased their greed, so that they will give him only that advice that will expand their barns and line their pockets, to say nothing of the kingdom.” He stopped and looked at me earnestly. Gaelynn temporarily lost interest in us and walked on a short ways, alone.

            “Truthfully, Laura,” he told me in a low voice, “Those men you saw in the castle are all that Phantasia has left. Every able-bodied man and boy took up arms to defend their castle, leaving the rest of the land open for the Black Fox to claim. Jerald must hearten the king, so that he may rise up and establish the nation again—if he still yet lives.”

            I saw the pain in Charlie’s eyes, and I fervently hoped that Jerald could still be found.

            “Are you beginning to doubt that he lives?” I asked.

            Charlie bobbed his head uncertainly, “He has not been seen for many years,” he mused. “Of course, that is not unusual for a forester; we are well-trained at becoming invisible, even in the forest, but—“

            “You think he would have contacted you by now?” I inquired.

            Charlie most likely would have answered, but just at that moment, he held up a hand to warn me to keep still and quiet. We heard Gaelynn’s voice, speaking with one who sounded like an old man. Charlie and I approached carefully, but by the time we reached the princess, she was alone.

            “Whom were you speaking with?” Charlie demanded a bit brusquely.

            Gaelynn waved her hand passively, “Oh, just one of the forest-dwellers; an old man, I think. He said the last time he saw the forester, he was headed down this road here! We are close, I think!” Her eyes danced with anticipation.

            Charlie frowned as he studied the path Gaelynn designated.

            “What is it?” I asked him, “Could the old man be telling the truth?”

            Charlie did not respond for a long while. When he did, his voice sounded uncertain. “I’ve heard stories about these parts of the woods,” he hinted, “how dangerous they might be.”

            “But if the forester is there,” Gaelynn observed, “shouldn’t we risk going anyway, for the sake of the kingdom?”

            That got Charlie’s attention; he was devoted to Phantasia, he would do anything to help it keep its rightful king. “Oh, very well,” he sighed, “We’ll go there; but all three of us must stay together; our lives depend on it!”

            Gaelynn shrugged as she linked her arm in mine. “It’s not like those rumors are true, you know,” she chided Charlie. “We’ve traveled over probably half the Deep Forest, and there has not been one ounce of difficulty!”

            “Yes,” Charlie replied, gritting his teeth at the princess’ careless, lackadaisical attitude, “but this is the heart of the Deep Forest. This is where the queen went when she—“

            “Well, she was alone!” Gaelynn cut him off and flounced down the path in a huff. I heard her sniff a few times, and knew she was crying.

            I shot Charlie a look, but he rolled his eyes and followed after the princess. I heeded his warning and stayed close to him.

            We walked for several hours; Gaelynn stayed close enough for us to see her, but she refused to join us. She put a bit more distance between us when Charlie and I stopped to drink from a small spring (after Charlie had made sure it was safe to drink, of course.) I welcomed the cool, clear water.

“Charlie? Laura?” Gaelynn called to us from up ahead. “Come look at these!”

           

            We joined the princess. She stood in a muddy clearing, gazing up at trees with black vines hanging down. Closer inspection revealed that these were not so much vines, but they looked and felt just like sticky black cords.

            “It’s all very queer, don’t you think?” she said, gazing at the strange, spectral trees and tipping her head from side to side.

            “This whole forest is queer,” Charlie said, his eyes roving around the shadows. “We ought to find a place to camp. Not here, of course,” he tapped his foot in the wet, muddy ground, “but someplace safer, away from the queer parts of the forest.”

            “Oh, it’s not getting dark yet.” I wanted to get a closer look at the black vines that looked like nylon rope. “I think—does it look like the vines are getting longer?”

            I stood still and watched; sure enough, the vines seemed to lengthen as we watched. After only a few moments, the vines that began near the tops of the trees had nearly reached the ground. The ground…

I noticed as I stood next to Gaelynn that my boots suddenly felt rooted to the spot. I looked down to the ground and saw that the princess herself had sunk to well past her ankles.

            “Gaelynn, look out!” I cried.

            Gaelynn looked down and screamed. She tried to move her feet, but to no avail. I saw that Charlie was stuck as well. Terror caused my heart to jump into my throat. How had this happened? How long had we been standing here? The sun looked considerably lower than it had been when we first entered the clearing. Night was coming on fast, indeed—but by now we could not move to safety!

            “Grab a vine!” Charlie yelled, lunging for the nearest black cord.

            We did so, but the vines grabbed back! They stuck to our hands as we pulled, and wrapped around our wrists. Pulling on the cords gave enough counter-movement to pull us free of the mud, but our weight upon the cords only caused them to pull us higher and closer to the trees.

            I reached up and tried to pull the vine off my wrist, but in the process, my free hand brushed another vine and was instantly entwined. As it drew me closer to the tree, the cord slowly worked its way down and around my body, like a sticky boa constrictor, until I was completely cocooned in the sticky black cord. Wriggling and pulling only made it tighter, until I began to feel dizzy; the vines were choking me! Charlie and Gaelynn had already passed out. We looked like three black mummies in the tree. I stopped moving, and the vines stopped squeezing. I hung there in the falling darkness, listening to the various growls and howls of countless deadly woodland creatures, praying for the daylight and wondering how on earth we would escape our vile bonds.

            After a tortuous night, I could no longer sleep when dawn shone in my eyes. I looked over. Charlie and Gaelynn still remained unconscious and tightly bound high above the forest floor. I looked around. Everywhere was empty, but I could still make out the paw-prints of several large animals in the mud below us.

            “Hello?” A hoarse voice came from behind us, in the bushes somewhere. “Is that someone?”

            “Hello?” I called back, trying to crane my neck, but I could not see behind me, no matter how hard I tried.

            “Oh, thanks be, I am not too late!”

            I saw Charlie begin to stir.

            “Charlie!” I hissed, “Charlie!”

            “Hmmm…” he groaned, “Wha—“ his eyes popped open and he stared down at his bonds.

            “Can you help us?” I called to the voice.

            “I believe I can. Do you see the cord between your feet?”

            I looked down. “Yes.”

            “And that branch below it?”

            I shifted my feet slightly and saw a jagged stub. “It’s there.”

            “Try and work the cord around the branch till it breaks.”

            “What breaks, the rope or the branch?”

            The voice paused. “Either one will do.”

            I rolled my eyes and began wriggling to obey. I nodded to Charlie, who had heard the instructions as well and worked at doing the same.

            Charlie’s rope snapped before mine did. He gasped as the whole coil slipped easily off his body, and he landed carefully on the branch, free as a bird. He looked up at me. “Do you need help?”

            I shook my head. “Don’t bother with me; see if you can help Gaelynn.”

            Charlie’s movements were almost casual as he whipped the knife from his belt and cast it at the tree right behind Gaelynn’s back. The ropes fell away from her, and he swung over on his length of rope in time to keep her limp body from falling. He hoisted her onto a wider branch as my rope snapped, and I was able to free myself. Carefully, I gulped to see the incredible distance between me and the swamp below. There was no way I could make it to Gaelynn’s tree—no way except one.

            “Moving carefully,” I whispered, “she joined the others.” In a blink, I stood on the branch just below Charlie and Gaelynn just as the princess regained consciousness.

            “Mmmm,” she moaned, “What happened?”

            “We were tied up,” I explained as I climbed up to the branch, “but a man was there when I woke up and he explained how to get out of the trap.”

            Charlie’s face broke into a wide grin. “Man? That was no mere man, Miss Laura.”

            I frowned in confusion. “What?”

            “Hello, there!” Charlie called out.

            “Are you all safe?” the voice responded.

            “Yes we are,” Charlie replied, “Will you come out, so we can thank you?”

            “I think not,” the voice replied. “It would be better to say you did not see me. I will see that you return safely from whence you came.”

            We all climbed down from the tree, and Gaelynn snooped around the bushes, intent on finding the mysterious speaker who had saved our lives.

            “Well, if you will not introduce yourself,” Charlie persisted, “Then I will introduce us. The ladies with me are Laura and Gaelynn—and I am called Charlie.”

            Silence reigned. I scanned every shadow I saw, but our mysterious “no-mere-man” was very excellent at remaining invisible. I turned to Charlie to say something, but he raised his finger toward my lips.

            “Wait,” he instructed. His eyes were strangely bright.

            Finally, the voice came again, slightly stronger, and oddly familiar.

            “Charlie?” I detected a note of shock in the voice.

            “Aye, sir,” Our guide seemed respectful of the man.

            I gasped as I realized who this must be. “Charlie,” I hissed, “Is it—“

            We all stilled as the man emerged from the shadows, actually nearer to us than I expected. I caught my breath.

            “Jerald?” I guessed, not daring to believe my eyes.

            The old man nodded, but could not take his eyes off of Gaelynn. He approached her slowly, reaching out as if to assure himself that she was indeed real.

            “You…” he murmured, “you…”

            “Jerald, sir,” Charlie spoke gently, “We have ventured into the Deep Forest in search of you. The castle is under siege, and you are our only hope!”

            Jerald, the famed forester, gazed around quickly, “Follow me,” he instructed us, “The forest has ears.” We followed him back to a small hovel in a remote part of the forest. All the while, I couldn’t help wondering, Would he return with us?

           

            We received our answer as we sat around the table, sipping mugs of warm cider with the legendary forester.

            “I’m sorry,” he announced right away, “but I cannot help you anymore.”

            “Jerald,” Charlie pressed, “We need you! Phantasia will fall without you!”

            Jerald frowned bitterly, “The king should have thought of that before he sent me off at the behest of his councilors! Let them help him, see what good it does him!”

            “Jerald,” I leaned forward, “What happened at the castle that resulted in your banishment? From what I hear, you are quite renown for your skills in preserving lives.”

            “Well,” Jerald tossed his calloused hands in the air, “there you have your answer! All the lives I’ve saved mean nothing next to the one life I—“ He broke off and bit his lip.

            “The queen,” I said quietly for him.

            Jerald’s face was drawn with pain as he closed his watering eyes. “I led her out here; she wanted to go through the forest, and I was tasked with being her guide. We came to the cord trees, as you did—“ He broke off, and his hands clenched to fists as he tried to control his emotions. “I didn’t know how to save her! I should have figured it out, but everything I tried only made them pull tighter and tighter—“

            A long moan interrupted him. We looked over to see Gaelynn weeping profusely. Jerald laid a large hand on her shoulder.

            “Child,” he said gently, weeping along with her, “you are the king’s daughter?”

            Gaelynn nodded, too overcome to speak.

            Jerald took the young princess in his arms and soothed her. “You are the very image of your mother.” He turned back to Charlie and I. “I have spent all the years of my banishment studying those trees, figuring out the best way to escape the enchantment, determining that, should anyone else come into the forest and be caught by them, I would know how to save them.”

            “Thank you for saving us, sir,” Charlie replied gratefully.

            “Please,” Gaelynn’s voice came small and pitiful, “The Black Fox will surely kill my father if you do not come! Please help us! He is the only family I have left!”

            “Yes, yes, I will come,” Jerald’s resolve crumbled at the simple petition.

            We started back immediately. With Jerald with us, it did not take nearly as long to reach the area I knew was the entrance to the tunnel. Jerald seemed familiar with that particular feature as well.

            “I would use it all the time, when the king needed a forester at his side quickly. It was much easier than having to negotiate the moat and the gate.”

            We entered the small tunnel. Jerald stopped and turned back toward us.

            “Hold a moment; princess, I have something to say to you.”

            “What is it?” Gaelynn responded.

            Jerald sighed and shuffled his feet a bit. “See, it’s like this: the king isn’t your only family, you know.”

            The princess frowned, “What do you mean?” she asked innocently.

            “The queen…” The forester sighed awkwardly, “well, she’s… she was—my sister.”

            “Sister!” Gaelynn’s hands flew to her mouth as her cheeks flushed. “Why, then, that means you are…”

            Jerald nodded. “Yes, I am your uncle.”

            “Oh!” Without another word, Gaelynn flung her arms around him. “Thank you for coming with us,” she said.

            Jerald smiled, “Of course I must come; it’s what my sister would have wanted.” He sniffed and Gaelynn pulled away. “Now, let’s get to that castle!” He strode forward into the shadows.

            Gaelynn freaked out as soon as it got too dark to see.

            “Laura?” I heard her cry, “Charlie?”

            I was having trouble finding anyone, myself. Why had we not thought of some system of keeping track of each other in the darkness?

I heard Charlie tell the princess, “Here, your highness.”

He must have offered his hand, for she did not utter another sound. I had thought to follow the sound of the foresters’ boots on the rocks, but after about five minutes, I stopped at the realization that it was only my own footsteps I heard.

            “Hey guys?” I called out, too concerned with finding the rest of the group to worry about proper vernacular. There was no answer. I did hear a clamor in the distance. Perhaps there was some fighting in the castle. I dashed forward. A bright light appeared in the distance, and I raced toward it as fast as I could. The ground evened out, and I emerged from an alleyway and nearly crashed into a little old lady walking her dog.

            “Oh my!” she gasped, stumbling a bit at the sight of me.

            I looked around, confused.

            Phantasia had disappeared.

Next>>>>>

RamblingsOn: Fulfillment

Okay, so the last "me and my own thoughts" post was about what gets me excited. Now I just want to explore the idea of fulfillment. Namely because I've been feeling so fulfilled lately... with a job that I truly love, among people that are wonderful to work with, and kids who are so excited that I'm there (even though it's been three months) that I'm getting hugs at least once a day!
This is more than satisfaction or happiness; it goes deeper. This is more than just contentment; it inspires me to be and do more of what gives me the fulfillment.

So what is fulfillment?

Paid In Full—The debt of our sin, paid in full. The first syllable of "fulfillment" is "ful." Just try saying those words out loud. What comes to mind? I always think of those areas where I'm not living the "in full" part: shortcomings, bad habits, neglect... What if I'm not doing stuff, God? Is it true that if I don't take charge of my faith, then in a few years (maybe even months) it will be as if I never heard the Gospel, because I've backslidden so far? At what point, Lord, do You throw in the holy towel and exclaim, "That's it! We're done; nothing's happening with you, so go enjoy the rest of your life in mediocrity and apathy—you may get to Heaven, but trust Me, I have plenty of other people with whom I am looking forward to spending eternity—you can just sit in your little corner of New Jerusalem by your apathetic self!" Or maybe... if I screw up too many times, does that mean I'm lukewarm? I don't want to be "spewed out" by God! What more do I need to do to avoid this kind of response?
Jesus grins at me.
"Paid in full," He says.
"Yes, but now what? You've paid your part, what's mine?"
Again He reminds me, "Paid in full." There is emphasis in His words, but no sign of irritation. It's as if He takes pleasure in letting me ponder the significance of what He has done. He's excited to tell me, "Paid... In... Full."
Just like that? Nothing else? It's not as if You just handled the blood sacrifice part of it, and there's another part that's my responsibility, and every time I screw up, it's because that part is not taken care of...is there?

"Paid in full."
I still don't get it. Paid? Seriously? You paid, Jesus? And not just one aspect of it—the FULL? You didn't just die for my sins and my salvation, You sacrificed every last thing for my mistakes and my presumptions, my good intentions and my habits. Before You paid, all of these were bad; they were self-centered, willful, and completely inadequate. Once my debt was paid in full by Your mercy, You had the capacity to completely change everything about me. Not just giving me the power to be who You want me to be, but You see me differently. You see Your payment, and regard the debt as full.

Fulfilled—Fully Filled, as in God, knowing us fully, knowing me fully, filled His response with love and gave of His fullness to fill us fully. He spared no expense, not even the greatest price ever paid. God went "all out" in the pursuit of a species who were "yet sinners." Is it too much to ask those who acknowledge and accept this to respond likewise in all-out worship of Him?
What does a fulfilled Christian look like? Are there any needs that cannot be met? Any holes or voids that cannot be filled? The very word "fulfilled" is made of "full" and "filled." It's more than "full," which implies that there isn't any more being added. It's more than just "filled," which by itself is only just beyond empty.
The Bible speaks of blessing being "shaken" and "pressed down", yet still "overflowing." God doesn't just fill us so that we are no longer empty. He fills to the brim.... Then He shakes it down, and fills sone more... Then He presses and packs, then fills some more... Then He piles it on till overflowing! Fulfilled is so jam-packed with God and His power and glory that there is not even one micron of room to think of anything else.

Fulfillment—the feeling of being filled with the fullness of God. A fullness so inexorably beyond our own capacity that it's like filling a thimble with a gallon jug. The water spills out of the thimble in a widening pool that spreads over everything, but there is still more water in the jug. Compared to the thimble, the gallon jug would indeed seem limitless. The more that is poured in, the more spills out. And yet, with all the amount that spills, the thimble is just as full as ever.

This is a picture of fulfillment. It is more than just satisfaction. Satisfaction fills the thimble and walks away. Once satisfaction is gone, it is not replenished. We are left with "gruntwork", the tediousness and annoyance of tasks which no longer satisfies us. Or maybe our need for satisfaction will exceed that little thimble. But how can we make up the difference if we have no more satisfaction? The longer we work for satisfaction, the less satisfaction is available to us.
Fulfillment goes beyond this. No task is too tedious; no challenge too difficult; the longer we work toward the fulfillment that fills us up and overflows to others, the further it will spread to those around us. The work of fulfillment is not for ourselves alone. It keeps on spreading out to others. That is the difference between mere satisfaction and fulfillment: one is focused on ourselves; the other turns our focus to others.

Satisfaction runs out, it's temporary. Fulfillment is a perpetual motion machine. Either you are continuously motivated to do the thing that brings fulfillment and it spreads benefit AND satisfaction around, or within that activity, you find something just a little bit different but very much the same that provides a whole new store of fulfillment. Satisfaction satisfies our fleeting wants and whims; if the pleasure does not exceed the effort, it no longer satisfies. Fulfillment satisfies our core needs; the pleasure is derived from and proportional to the effort, so that the more effort we put into that activity that fulfills us, the more pleasure we get from seeing the pleasure it brings others, and very often we actually end up enjoying the work it takes to receive the pleasure from the things that fulfill us.


FULFILLMENT: God in His FULlness, sent Jesus to bear the justice destined for us, and Jesus' sacrifice paved the way for His Holy Spirit to FILL us as we were MEaNT to be filled--but not just filled....

FULFILLED. 

Serial Saturday: "A Writer's Tale," Part 10

I stepped forward through the impenetrable darkness. I could hear distant dripping. I bent down and felt the ground beneath me: stone, mud, and a few puddles. Not a ship anymore, I concluded; it must be a cave of some sort, but where? There were a lot of contexts for a cave. I would need to get out of this cave and have a look around, but which way was out? I heard some kind of constant, indistinct noises coming from my left. As my eyes adjusted to the darkness, I could see that the rock wall behind me did not extend completely on that side, signifying a tunnel.

            As I followed the tunnel, the noise increased; in addition, I felt a slight breeze wafting through the rocks, and I saw a spot of light. Encouraged, I pressed forward, thanking Charlie in my mind for the sturdy pirate boots he gave me, which protected my feet over the invisible terrain.

            The light turned out to be the mouth of a small tunnel, one that I had to duck to exit, grown over like a secret passageway. I could hear the noises better now; a lot of clanging metal, and shouting, the noise of horses. I carefully poked my head aboveground. That moment, I witnessed my first castle siege.

            An army in dark armor, waving red flags with the black silhouette of a fox emblazoned on it, set ferociously upon a tall castle topped with a blue flag bearing the symbol of a gold crown over a medieval crest. I knew I would rather make it to the castle and get in trouble with the king as my entrance into this narrative, than make a wrong move and get captured by the Black Fox army—but how was I going to make it through the battlefield separating me from the gate?

            I ducked back into the tunnel to think. Could I risk sneaking through the war zone, or should I wait till the fighting died down—if it ever would? I remembered the gunfight in Phantom Gulch, how I had been impervious to the bullets, but not invisible to the enemy. Perhaps I could not be pierced or killed—but could I be wounded?

            “But the story wouldn’t be able to continue without me,” I observed aloud, “after all, I am the writer.”

            The minute those words left my mouth, I had the strange sensation of being completely aware of everything taking place above me, even things I hadn’t noticed when I stuck my head out of the tunnel. The sounds I heard were no longer ambiguous noise. I knew which soldiers stepped when, or what horses fell, who clashed sword. I knew the position of every pike and lance, “saw” the discharge of every arrow. I was no longer stuck “within” (or as the case may be, below) the action, but, as I had on the HMS Phantom, I could observe and direct the action above at will. I was, quite literally, the writer of this story, and could manipulate the characters and even time, if I wanted to, and none of the characters involved had any notion that their lives and actions were under the control of one person.

            Forthwith, I applied the necessary literary technique to slow down the action happening above. I heard the clamor actually slacken its pace, and I peeked out to see the effect of my “narration.” Sure enough, the expressions and the movements were exactly such as if the battle proceeded at normal speed, but to me, everything appeared slow motion. I could actually come out of hiding and maneuver my way between spears and soldiers, and I doubted, at this speed, that I would register as anything more than a rogue wind. Just to be on the safe side, I added that to my descriptive narration.

            “As she wove her way between soldiers and horses, lances, pikes, and swords,” I murmured, dodging a bloody body here while ducking under a rearing horse there, “no one spotted her, so deft were her movements. It only seemed to them that a strange and miraculous wind blew through the battlefield, gone as quickly as it had come.”

             With the veritable universe in my favor, it took very little time to reach the base of the castle walls. There was no way I would make it to the bridge and through the courtyard, not with all the people I would have to run through. My only option was to climb through the window, and there happened to be one directly above me. By now, I knew what was needed, and I had thoroughly warmed up to my subject.

            “Just then,” I announced under my breath (and the action behind me resumed normal speed), “a servant-girl leaned out the window, praying for a savior to appear who would be the means of ending this wretched bloodbath.” I watched the window as I spoke, and saw a pair of hands at the window and heard a barely-audible voice no doubt saying just that. I went on, “So great was her faith that she let down a rope ladder from that same window, so that the savior may ascend.” I don’t know where she could have gotten it from, but down came the rope ladder, only seconds after I finished speaking. I wasn’t finished yet, though. As an added precaution, I concluded, “As soon as she had done this, the maid resumed her duties as faithfully as ever, thinking of the coming savior and purposing to tell no one of what she had done.” With that, I took hold of the thick, knotted rope ladder and began to climb.

            It was much slower going than I had anticipated. The battle still raged beneath me, but no one even glanced in my direction. At last, I reached the window and gripped the wide stone ledge, hauling myself over and into the room. I was lucky that it wasn’t a window over a stairwell because I had picked up too much forward momentum and ended up flipping myself over the ledge in a somersault. I hit something with my backside that shattered, and I sprawled on the floor beneath the window as someone screamed.

            When I could see straight, I found myself staring down the long, bright blade of a sword, held by a young woman in regal dress. She did not appear, by the way she held the weapon, particularly skilled in its use, but I figured since she held it at my throat she at least knew enough to inflict serious damage at the slightest provocation. And I had just scared the living daylights out of her.

            “Villain!” she shrieked, “What are you doing here?” A few of the maids still bustling about the room froze in horror at my presence. Even as she tried to sound harsh and imperious, I detected a tremor in the princess’ voice. I decided that the best course would be to have the humble response, as it had worked so well on the pirate ship.

            “Please, your Highness,” I begged, spreading my hands wide to show that I was unarmed, “I apologize for my sudden intrusion. I mean no harm. I’ve just come through the battlefield, I am the one sent to save you!”

            The princess almost dropped her sword in surprise. “Merciful saints!” she cried, “A lady, and a corsair? Thy clothes proclaimed the a man, yet I perceive by your speech that thou art a woman, and thou canst not be my elder by more than a year!”

            I clapped my hand on my head; in the rush of the moment I had forgotten that I was not dressed for the times; I still wore eighteenth-century pirate clothing in a fifteenth-century castle. I leaned forward to stand back on my feet and took a moment to gather my bearings.

            I was certainly in the princess’ bedchamber. There was the gigantic, gilded four-poster, the rich hangings, the thick rugs, and the ornate armoire and linen trunks. Upon my entrance, I had landed on a small table by the window with a vase full of flowers upon it. The flowers now lay scattered and crushed in a pool of water amid shards of the vase. The princess herself did indeed looked about my age, with strawberry-blonde hair cascading down her back, and a simple circlet around her forehead. Her features and her delicate, porcelain complexion gave her the appearance of being quite a bit younger than I did not doubt she really was. I wondered if she was the sort of princess whom everyone underestimated.

            The princess, as I observed her, lowered her sword and plopped down on the luxurious lounge behind her. “Oh, this dreadful war!” she moaned, “You say you’ve come to save us, but I fear that any effort will be in vain. The Black Fox’s army is strong, and they have already drawn near the castle gates and the walls.” With a jerk, the princess sat up and gazed at me with keen interest. “You say you were sent to save us, but who could have known we were in danger? Where did you come from? Who sent you?”

            “Please, ma’am,” a small voice spoke behind me. I turned and beheld a young servant-girl, whom I recognized as the same one who had let the rope ladder down when I needed it. She stepped forward.

            “It was a mysterious cavern, was it not?” she looked to me for confirmation. “A vast passageway, crafted by magic, beyond the comprehension of man, and by this progress, concealed from all eyes, the savior did traverse the entire breadth of the field of blood, and did come to the castle wall, where I—“ she blushed at the withering gaze of her mistress at the maid’s involvement in the story, “where one simple prayer brought the savior to the window and aided her advance into the castle of the king.”

            The princess stared at her maid in silence for several minutes. When she spoke, her voice was hushed and full of awe. “The Savior of Phantasia,” she looked from her servant to me. “As in the stories; the one in all the land who could drive away our enemies and bring peace to our kingdom.” She jumped forward and grabbed my hand in her marvelously strong grip. “I must bring you to my father!”

            Her father… the king? I barely had time to grasp this realization before she dragged me through a pair of huge oaken doors that thundered as we entered.

           

“Father!”

            “Gaelynn!”

            Several men sat around a table, but only one sat on a golden throne at the head of it. He was a tall, strong man, with kind, blue eyes. Looking at him, I was reminded of gazing into the face of the Dragon Maarkiss—the same determination, the sense of authority, and the commitment to justice. He willingly held up his hand to still the protests of the men we’d interrupted as he welcomed his daughter.

            “Gaelynn, my child, what is the meaning of this?” the king glanced at me, but most of his attention remained with his daughter. The men—presumably the royal council—were not so diverted, and I very much wanted to melt under their withering stares.

            Gaelynn lifted her chin staunchly, like the royal she was. “Father, you must continue to repel the Black Fox! See, I have brought the savior with me! She has arrived!”

            “She?” one of the councilors burst out, “Poppycock! What could a woman do against an army? If there is any savior for Phantasia, it must be a man. Your Majesty,” he beseeched the king, “how is it that such a stranger has arrived so suddenly, slipping past the royal guard? Obviously this is the apprentice of some sorcerer, and she has bewitched your daughter; who knows what evil she might do in the minds of your most trusted subjects?”

“He minds your mind, you mine his mine, what’s his is yours, his mind, your mine!” A singsong voice erupted from the corner of the room. A wide-eyed jester with mottled clothing—full of patches, pockets, tassels, and buttons—stepped into view. He shook his bauble at the group.

“The witch has switched which mind you mind, the switch of mine, this witch of yours, the switch of the mind, his mine you mind—which is the witch? Mind your mine, you stitch of switches, mine your mind, and dare not switch mine witch!”

The man danced away, his spinning steps an apt demonstration of my spinning thoughts, as I vainly tried to understand the bundle of nonsensical wordplay he had just thrust at me. The king, however, smiled with delight.

“Chilly,” he said, “speak plainly: what is it you want to say?”

Chilly the court fool crept from chair to chair, making his way from the foot of the table to the king at its head.

“The king desires his fool to speak plain, while his plain men speak foolishly over the king’s meat. The stuffed pig is no less stuffed than the king, stuffed with piecemeal news and finely minced suggestions, braised with tasteless lies!” He gently plucked a pork loin off the gilded plate of the councilor nearest the king, sniffing it exuberantly. “The leg, torn off, sits before the man.” He flew to the king’s side with a wail. “Oh! Chilly sees the king on a gilded platter, and when the king arises, lo! He does not know his legs are torn off till he has need of them, and they have been eaten!”

I could see a few of the councilors turning purple, but it was more at how aggravatingly cryptic the fool was than the fact that they understood his meaning. I had the feeling none of them wanted to understand.

The king looked at me, taking in my pirate outfit in obvious confusion. “I am King Marcus; what is your name?”

I bowed, and as an added precaution, removed my kerchief as I replied, “My name is Laura, Your Majesty.”

“And how did you end up in the bedchambers of my dear daughter?”

I did not know what else to say. “I came to the foot of the wall,” I answered, “and I climbed.”

            The clown ceased his capering and began inspecting me closely, his eyes taking in every detail of my appearance as he pranced round and round me. The king watched Chilly with evident juvenile delight, forgetting any attempts at conversation. The clown muttered words—sensible words—that only I could hear.

            “Strange clothes…a sudden appearance…not the savior! Certainly not; there is only one person in the world who can save Phantasia, and it won’t be her! But perhaps…” he finished pacing circles around me and ended up right in front of my face, staring at me with wide eyes. For the first time, I sensed some level of wisdom behind the crazy demeanor. “Perhaps she can help us find him,” he murmured meaningfully.

            I furrowed my brow, “Find whom?” I whispered back, but Chilly turned away and began dancing for the king again.

            “This girl is not the savior!” he announced, “She cannot save us…but,” he continued, as a few of the councilors began muttering death wishes toward me, “she is the one we have been waiting for!”

            “Well then, why is she here?” The king asked, addressing the whole room. He shook his head, “I cannot lose more men!”

            “Aye, your Majesty,” one councilor found safety in agreeing with his king, “surrender seems the only option. We have been fighting far too long. Any more would be insensible.”

            “Oh, Father!” Gaelynn fell on her knees before the throne. “There must be something else we can do!”

            “No, daughter,” King Marcus lifted her to her feet. “No other nation can give us aid, and we can do nothing else against the enemy. It is finished. The Black Fox rules the world now.”

            “Your Majesty,” for once, Chilly dropped his antics and sprawled in desperate seriousness at the king’s feet. “There is one man in Phantasia who has the means to drive away the Black Fox and ensure peace in Phantasia.”

            King Marcus frowned at his fool, “Who would that be, Chilly?”

            “His name is Jerald, if you remember, Sire.”

            “The forester?” one of the councilors erupted, “But I am certain he disappeared long ago! Besides, he could never really be trusted.”

            The king nodded to his councilor, “This is true; and even if he were alive, my faithful Chilly, why has he not come before now? Why would Jerald come to aid a lost cause?”

            Chilly turned a wide, hopeful grin on me.

            “That is why we have been waiting for her, for the Laura. She will find him, and she will bring him back.”

            I could feel my gut twisting; I had no idea who Jerald was, much less how to find him. Heck, I did not even know what the world beyond the battlefield looked like! But when the king looked at me, a new strength of hope on his face, I knew I could not refuse him.

            I didn’t have to; the expression faded as soon as he met my gaze.

            “No,” he stated, “I will not send a girl out into the battlefield; I will send no more people to be slaughtered! How you mock me, fool!” His look was one of deep concern.

            “What you say is wise, O king,” one councilor nodded sagely, “it is truly a waste of men to continue holding out hope for much longer. Hope fell long ago, and we must all accept our fates.” The other councilors murmured in assent.

            I knew I had to get things going fast; I could not believe for one moment that this story was going to end up at the mercy of the Black Fox.

            “There is a way, sire,” I spoke up, “not over the battlefield, but under it.”

            King Marcus leaned forward eagerly. “Under? What is this you speak of? Are you truly a witch, that you can make passages through the heart of the earth?”

            I shook my head, “No, I am not a witch! The passage already exists. By this I came near your castle undetected and unscathed. By it, also, I can come out to the edge of yonder forest, and so begin my search for the forester unmolested.”

            Everyone looked in silence at the map where I traced out the path of the tunnel. One of the councilors burst out, “Unmolested? Everyone knows the Deep Forest is a death trap to all who enter! Even the Queen, God rest her soul—“

            “No!” King Marcus thundered, cutting the man off. His face contorted in pain at the mention of his wife. Had she met her demise in this Deep Forest? Suddenly, my quest was not going to be as glorious as I thought it would be. “Be silent; I will ponder this matter. Gaelynn, conduct Laura back to your chambers. I will summon you when I have reached a decision.”

            Gaelynn nodded, “Yes, Father.” She beckoned me to follow her as she left the great hall.

            Back in her bedroom, Gaelynn went straight to her armoire and drew out a deep-blue dress similar in style to her own.

            “Here,” she said, “You had better put this on; people will more likely listen to you if they are not put off by your strange clothing.” She chuckled as she plucked at the hem of my jerkin. “It looks so much like underclothes of leather!”

            I understood the wisdom of what she said, but I was not about to give up the boots and leggings for dainty slippers and frilly petticoats. I merely removed the jerkin and slipped the dress on over my outfit. That way, I at least appeared at first glance to belong in the Phantasian castle. Gaelynn directed me to a little stool in front of a mirror, where she gently took my hair in her hands and began brushing it.

            “Do you think you can do it?”

            I blinked at the sudden question. “What?”

            Gaelynn made a small noise and continued in a rush, “I mean, find the forester, and all. You’ve only just arrived, of course, and you couldn’t possibly consider venturing out there on your own.”

            I looked at her face in the mirror and saw that it was a deep red, and she breathed as if her pulse was racing. I responded calmly, “There doesn’t seem anyone in this castle who would want to go with me. You all have your duties and your places here; I am the only one who can leave the castle.”

            Gaelynn finished braiding my hair, and stood silently behind me. I could see that she was thinking about something, and a little voice inside me told me what it was.

            “You’re not thinking of asking your father to let you go with me, are you?” I turned around and confronted her.

            Gaelynn bit her lip, as tears welled in her sapphire eyes. “No, father would never let me go. He’s always forbidden me to enter the forest without a large number of soldiers guarding me. Ever since mother—“ her voice caught, and her chin trembled. But she lifted her face and stood resolute.

            “Laura, it must be you and I; the forester is our only hope of salvation, and I fear—“ she lowered her voice and glanced suspiciously to the door, “I fear his councilors will convince him to surrender to the Black Fox.”

            “They certainly don’t seem to be encouraging any show of force,” I agreed.

            Gaelynn was already digging through various trunks and cabinets in her room. She buckled her sword around her waist, and handed me a bow and quiver.

            “We must act now, Laura, and find the forester before it is too late!”

            I watched the princess; she seemed to mature speedily, the more she talked about it. I could see, however, that there seemed to be a phantom hovering over her shoulder.

            “Gaelynn,” I called to her, setting the bow on the bed beside me. “Are you sure you want to venture into the Deep Forest? What if you die there, as your mother did? What do you suppose that would do to your father?”

            Gaelynn wouldn’t meet my gaze. When she did, I saw tears and a ferocious scowl. “Well, I don’t suppose there’s any talk of you dying, now, is there?” She sighed hotly. “I must do this, and I mean to survive; we will help each other live. I do not doubt my mother got…lost,” she avoided acknowledging death as everyone else did, “because she was not determined to live through it.” She finally lifted her eyes and looked at me somberly.

            The princess was beginning to frighten me. “What are you saying,” I asked quickly, “are you saying that your mother ran away from your father?”

            Gaelynn pressed her lips, and I knew she didn’t want to talk about it anymore. “Come,” she said, getting to her feet. She threw a cloak about her shoulders, and handed me a second one. “We’ll go out the back ways. You can show me where your tunnel is.”

            I knew for certain that two armed, cloaked girls running through a castle in the middle of a war would not go unnoticed; it is one of the most unbelievable things that seem to always happen in literature. Hence, I decided to craft my own set of precautions.

            “Moving warily through the shadows,” I murmured behind Gaelynn’s back, “the two girls traveled safely through the halls, past oblivious servants and worried lords, and soon arrived at the castle entrance to the tunnel they sought.”

            The floor of the castle seemed to take a steep decline, and Gaelynn and I found ourselves presently running slap against a locked door. I could see the crags behind it, through a tiny window, and knew that this was the tunnel.

            “Oh!” the princess gasped, laying her hand on the rough wood. “This is it! This is how you made it through the battlefield!” she glanced up toward the ceiling. “My room must be straight up there, above our heads. I wonder how no one in the castle ever noticed this!”

            “Two little birds, kept in a stone cage,

            Two little birds, trying to fly away!

            Poor little dark birds, can’t you see?

            You couldn’t face the forest without someone like me!”

            We both jumped in fright at the sound of the song. Gaelynn and I turned to see Chilly the fool, also cloaked as we were, coming up behind us as if he had followed us the whole way.

            “What might you two little birds be doing?” he grinned at us. He pushed his cloak back, and the light of the last torch at the end of the hall glinted off of the hilt of a knife in his belt.

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