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Fairy Tale: noun

1. A fanciful tale of legendary deeds and creatures.
2. A fictitious, highly fanciful story or explanation.

*****

Boarding school is a bitch, especially if you have problems. I had problems. I wet the bed. I had pills for it, but at twelve you just don't remember things like taking pills, and consequently my first night was not good. I woke up in a puddle and started crying. The next morning, to my horror, the housekeeper bustled in, and, in front of all the other boys, stripped my bed and fitted a plastic sheet.

"You're a filthy little boy, Sharp," she began as she wrinkled her nose and put the sodden bottom sheet in a bin liner, "and if you don't buck your ideas up, there will be consequences." She tied the neck of the bag and threw it at me. "What have you got to say for yourself? Hmm?" She paused, and an expectant hush fell over the dormitory. I was looking at my shoes.

"Don't know, M'am," I mumbled into my sweater. She huffed, and I risked a swift glance around. Most of the boys were smirking, though a few seemed to look sorry for me. I couldn't bear it any longer. I was dressed, and so I ran.

Mr Dodderington, my housemaster, and a kindly man, found me at the railway station hiding behind a luggage trolley. He coaxed me out, then took me to the station buffet. Sitting me down at a corner table, he wandered over to the counter and came back with tea and buns.

"Help yourself, Jonathan," he said, putting them in the middle of the table, and sat down with a heartfelt sigh. "Mrs Rowful has told me what happened, and she … well, she was wrong to have handled it as she did." He took a long and rather forlorn look out of the window, as the train from the coast pulled into the station. The canteen started to fill up, and he turned his attention back to me. "If you come back, I promise all will be forgotten." He beamed at me, and I saw his false teeth move. He sucked them back into place. "What do you say?" I reached out for the sugar bowl.

"Sugar, Sir?" I prevaricated, not knowing 'what to say'. He smiled.

"Yes, thank you, one lump, please, my boy." I dropped the lump into his cup and then added three to my own and stirred. There were plenty of things I wanted to say. I wanted to tell him he was mad to think fifteen twelve-year-olds would forget such a juicy piece of gossip. I wanted to tell him that the only way it would be forgotten was if I disappeared in a puff of smoke, and only then because my disappearance would be better gossip than the bed-wetting. I ended up saying nothing, just finishing my tea and bun and following him back to his car.

The first person I met on my return was Kempton, the dormitory bully.

"Piss pot," he said by way of greeting, and thumped me on the shoulder for good measure. I'm not proud of it, but I started to cry.

Twelve-year-olds are not kind, at least until a pecking order has been established. Then some can afford to be, if it's in their nature, and others ... well, let's just say Kempton was one of the others.

Lavallier saved me, though I didn't know his name then. He shot out of his cubicle and stood between Kempton and me.

"Leave him be, Kempton." He was bristling. I wiped my eyes on my sleeve and watched as they faced each other. Kempton was a big, brutish dullard, and had nothing visible to like about him, whereas Lavallier ….

At home I was a normal boy, with a tight circle of friends. I'd been nervous about going to boarding school, but my father had told me tales of his days there that made it sound fun. Now, in the first day, I'd embarrassed myself in front of any potential friends, become bully fodder, and tried to run away as well. I was feeling unloved, small, and very, very vulnerable until Lavallier arrived, like a knight of old, to my rescue. I sniffed, pulled myself together, and put my hand on his arm.

"Thanks, I appreciate it," I said, squaring my shoulders, "but I think I can handle this myself." He turned and looked at me, his right eyebrow quirking upwards. I gave him a small smile, adding a nod. He stared at me for a moment, then shrugged and stepped back.

"That's better, squib," Kempton said, sneering at him. The bully was turning back to me when I kicked him hard in the balls. I watched in satisfaction as he sank to his knees on the dormitory floor, groaning. The outcome had to be right. I didn't want a lifelong enmity, and I didn't want to be looking over my shoulder for the next five years.

"You fucker, just wait un …."

I tsked, and kicked him again, this time in the stomach. He made a hissing sound, like the air being let out of a tire, and then threw up. I saw Lavallier watching me, his mouth open in surprise, as I pushed my shoulders back again and stood up straight.

"What did you say … Kempton, is it?"

"Ugh," he groaned, under his breath. I laughed at him.

"It didn't sound like 'ugh'. I'm sure there was a 'fucker' in there somewhere. I'll tell you what. You leave me alone, and I'll steer well clear of you, ok?"

"Ugh," he groaned again, and looked up at me, his eyes blazing with hatred.

My father had told me this was the point where I couldn't afford to back down. He'd explained that most bullies are cowards, and that the first time you run into them is the time to sort the problem out. He hadn't covered the 'eyes blazing with hatred' scenario, though. I sighed.

"Well?"

"Fuck you!"

"Not too bright, then," I said, trying to keep the bluff going, and feeling my right leg beginning to shake.

"No, you're not." The whiny voice came from behind me, and I turned to see another of the boys from the dormitory standing with his arms crossed, watching me. My eyes slid to Lavallier, who raised his eyebrow once again. I shook my head.

"No point in looking at Lavallier; he's not gonna rescue you from Kempton," the boy said.

"Who says I need help?" I bluffed, and then had an outrageous thought. I started twitching; then threw myself at the nearest cubicle partition, making it rock, the contents of its shelves spilling to the floor.

"I told you, but you wouldn't listen!" I hissed.

"I don't want to hurt anyone anymore, please!" I answered myself, this time in a slightly different and deeper voice.

"You'll do what you're told, or you know what I'll do," I continued, watching out of the corner of my eye as the boy who had been standing behind me edged away.

"Wh … what are you … who are you talking to?" he said, and I could see that Kempton, still on the floor and clutching his stomach, was watching me, too.

I threw myself completely across the corridor into a cubicle on the other side, hitting my hip in the process. "I don … I don't know how long I can control him!" I shrieked, and almost gave the game away by laughing at the expression of fear that flowered in Kempton's eyes. He struggled to his feet, and I sank into a crouch and made as if I were going to spring at him. "I'm going to kill you, Kempton," I said in my scariest film noir voice, "I am going to kill you!"

"Fuck this, Rains, let's get the hell away from this psycho!" Kempton almost whimpered, panic evident in his voice. He and the other boy ran out of the dormitory as fast as they could, slamming the door behind them. I coughed, straightened up -- wincing at the pain in my hip -- then looked across at Lavallier, who hadn't moved, and winked.

"Good one," he said, his face breaking into a huge grin as he walked over to me and held out his hand. "I'm Lavallier, Jacques Lavallier." I took his hand, and looked straight into his eyes.

"How do you do? I'm Sharp, Jonathan Sharp," I said formally, and grinned back, wincing again. Tentatively I pulled my shirt out of my trousers and held it up so I could see my waist. A livid purple patch had already begun to show. I was in for a nasty bruise.

Jacques fast became my best friend, which was odd because he was a popular boy, whereas after the Kempton debacle most of the dormitory kept well clear of me.

Over the next five years our friendship grew in depth and breadth. He had parents who travelled widely, so he was given a lot of freedom to visit them during term time … yet he always seemed to be there for me whenever he was needed.

*****

We had two exeat weekends each term. Exeat is Latin for 'permission to leave', and we took those times very seriously. Amongst the prefects it was worthy of paean to revoke an exeat, so they were always on their toes the week before, looking for transgressors. Jacques didn't seem to care, and the week before my seventeenth birthday and just before the first exeat of the term, I cornered him right before he was about to let the air out of the house captain's bicycle.

"You twat," I said, finding him on his knees beside the unfortunate bicycle. "You'll be gated, you idiot!" I added, pulling him away from the bike into the back of the bike shed and covering his mouth with my hand, as Baker, the house captain, walked over, unlocked his bike and, whistling, rode away.

Instead of fighting against me, which is what I expected, Jacques pushed himself back into me, his bottom rubbing against my crotch.

"Wha … what are you doing?" I squeaked, snatching my hand away from his mouth as his tongue licked my palm, and pushing him forward, away from the danger zone. He turned and looked at me, smiling.

"You're hard, Jon." It was dark at the back of the shed, but nowhere near dark enough for him to kiss me, which is just what he did. If he'd been wrong before the kiss, he certainly wasn't after it. I was hard, and I was also totally freaked. I pushed him away from me with all my might: then ran in the other direction, hearing the clatter of bikes toppling over as he fell into them, laughing.

I ran as if the devil were chasing me and ended up in the library at the far end of Green, my house. The library had been a gift from one of Green's alumni, not to the school, but specifically to Green itself. It was a bone of contention that had lasted generations. The school had wanted to use the bequest for other projects, but the deed had been well-drafted, and Green was proud of its library.

Though it was the house library, it held a world-renowned collection of books on the arcane that had been gifted at the same time, which was why the bequest had included a salary, in perpetuity, for a librarian.

The library, oak-panelled and magnificent, faced the woods that surrounded the school, and though it was used more by visiting researchers than by boys in the house, I'd found it was a wonderful, almost otherworldly place to escape to; and the woods strangely compelling.

"Shh!" the librarian said, as I came in rather too quickly for her taste, and let the door bang shut behind me. I tried to calm my breathing long enough to apologise.

"S … sorry Miss … erm … Mirima," I panted. She looked over her spectacles and smiled, her cerulean eyes captivating me.

"Please remember this is a library, Jonathan." We looked at each other, and by the time I moved on, my breathing was back to normal. I walked down between two long stacks and took a seat at the end table. The wall of the library that faced the woods was mainly glass, and it was peaceful just to sit and watch the trees and the wildlife; but only if you had time to spare. Over my time in Green I'd lost hours sitting there. However, I wasn't in the mood for the woods or wildlife at present: I wanted to think about what had happened in the bike shed.

Humming under my breath, I pulled a sketch pad out of my satchel and opened it on the desk. I sighed as I rummaged through my pencil case, found a suitable piece of charcoal and sharpened it. I liked to draw, though if I was honest with myself, Jacques had been my only subject for an age. Not that he had ever sat for me, or seen my sketches. No, heaven forbid. The thought made me blush.

Every since I'd met Jacques I'd thought about him a lot, as you do with your close friends, but it had been a very recent sea change that had seen other, darker thoughts creeping in.

I was miles away and concentrating on my drawing when I began to realise that the quality of the light was changing; it was getting dark. I put down the pad and charcoal and blinked, realising I must have missed prep. A hand landed, feather-light, on my shoulder.

"Here you are." Startled, I jumped in my seat, then turned around. It really was dark, and I could hardly see the older boy who was touching me, let alone the stacks that held the books.

"Um … yeah," I said, for lack of anything better to say. He was stunning, and it was all I could do not to goggle at him, like an idiot. He chuckled.

"I'm sorry; I'm a dunderhead and I always seem to forget," he said, his hand still on my shoulder, though all of a sudden he didn't seem as stunning as I'd thought he had. He leaned towards me, and briefly he smelt of one of my mother's flowered perfumes, though that impression was suddenly suborned by a whiff of body odour. "Yeah, thanks for that, Calanon," he said, rolling his eyes, which were deep, deep golden brown.

"Who's Calanon?" I said, unafraid, though I thought that perhaps I should be.

"Oh," he said, "he's a friend;" he paused, and I saw he was looking at my sketch book; "you're very good, you know. You've caught Feredir's likeness perfectly."

"Feredir?" I said, bewildered. "I think you've mistaken him. That's Lavallier, Jacques Lavallier," I said, feeling it necessary to add, "my friend." He looked at me. I watched as he chewed on his bottom lip, and got the distinct impression he was holding back laughter.

"Right, of course he is; my mistake." He squeezed my shoulder in a friendly manner, then sat down in the vacant chair next to me. "He'll be along soon, and whatever his name, he was worried about you, and that kind of concern is of import, young Jonathan."

"How do you know my name? And who are you, anyway?" I was starting to feel slightly surreal, as if I might be dreaming. Not that I minded, the feeling was quite enjoyable; it was just that I liked to know.

"You're definitely not dreaming. Actually, you're quite honoured, considering your age." The boy was rambling; he had to be, considering he'd answered a question I hadn't asked, and hadn't answered one I had.

"I'm Nyquist, if it helps. One of the school prefects." I had been quite relaxed, but now I sat up stiffly, terrified he was going to gate me from the coming exeat. I reflected, and decided it didn't matter, except that I'd been going to invite Jacques home, and now it'd have to wait until the next exeat. I sighed, and Nyquist chuckled. I felt myself getting angry and shrugged my shoulder, pushing his hand off.

"You don't have to be so happy at gating me. Taking pleasure at others' misery is, in my book anyway, a pretty miserable way to get your jollies." I crossed my arms, then got to my feet. "Why are we waiting here anyway?" I said, getting even more annoyed at the huge grin that was spreading across his face.

"He's a fiery one, Feredir," he said, looking past me down the stack.

"Yes, he is." I turned to see Jacques standing next to another boy I didn't recognize. I turned back to Nyquist, who was trying to control his grin, without a lot of success.

"Please don't gate him too," I said. The whole situation was strange, and even if it were a dream, I could see to it that my friend wasn't punished in it. "You caught me in the library out of hours, not Jacques, and Jacques has done nothing wrong, honestly." Out of the corner of my eye I saw my sketch book was still open on the desk, a charcoal sketch of Jacques lying under a shady tree in plain sight. I blushed, and managed to secrete the book inside my blazer before I crossed my arms defiantly.

"Lavallier's done nothing wrong?" Nyquist mused, looking at Jacques, whilst rubbing his thumb and forefinger together, "What say you, Calanon?" The boy standing next to Jacques grinned, then shrugged, at which Nyquist chuckled. "Well then, Lavallier mustn't be punished, must he? Though, as a matter of interest," he said, turning back to me, "what made you think I was going to punish anybody?" His eyes held me fixed, and I found myself standing up and stuttering like an idiot.

"I … I … I don't know, I just thought …." I petered off, and blushed. Nyquist got up and patted me on the shoulder.

"Then invite him now, and I'm sure he'll come," he said over his shoulder as he sauntered off past Jacques, grabbing Calanon by the elbow and taking him along. With a resonant thud, the library door closed, and we were alone. I sat back down as Jacques walked over and took the chair Nyquist had vacated.

"Invite me?" he said, and I realised that he had golden brown eyes too. I shook my head, wondering how, in all the time he'd been my friend, I'd never noticed their colour before. I must have done … perhaps eyes weren't my thing. His lips were red as red could be, and the thought of them crushed against my own was one I hadn't even dared posit until that very second. I felt my inhibitions slide away and tentatively leant forward to kiss him, and glory be, he kissed me back. I don't know how long it lasted, and I have a feeling that if I spent the rest of my life trying to figure it out, I'd be none the wiser. I do know that I wished it could have gone on for longer when finally we had to break for air. We sighed at exactly the same time, and I felt myself starting to cry, though they were tears of joy, not pain or sorrow.

"Would you come home with me for the exeat, Jacques?" I sniffled, wiping my nose on the sleeve of my blazer.

"Yes, please, Jon, I'd love to," he replied, and in the developing night, we kissed again.

It didn't occur to me that I had never seen Nyquist or Calanon before, and it never crossed my mind to ask Jacques who they were. Then.

*****

Almost immediately after my father picked us up, I knew bringing Jacques home for the exeat had been a mistake, and I felt awful about it. I loved my mother and father, I loved them a lot, but recently they'd begun to embarrass me more than usual, and it felt as if they were doing it intentionally to piss me off.

It began on Saturday morning when my father, harassed as usual, picked us up and drove like a maniac to drop us off at home before going on to a meeting. He was apologetic, and asked us if we wouldn't mind lopping a few branches from a tree that was cutting off light from his study window. We agreed, as it sounded like fun.

My mother was starting to drink earlier and earlier each day, and there was nothing I could do about it. At least my close friends at home weren't there to comment on it, just Jacques, and he was, my mother said as she met us at the front door, 'a real gentleman' -- which made me shudder, and Jacques grin. "Oh, why can't you be more like Jacques, Jonathan?" she added.

We made sandwiches for lunch in the kitchen, under the eagle eye of my parents' new housekeeper, who seemed to like Jacques enormously. I came back from putting on an old pair of jeans to find her curtseying, which was more than peculiar. Jacques laughed it off when I mentioned it, telling me I must have been hallucinating. Then he went to get changed, and when he came back, I took him outside into the garden and showed him the tree my father wanted pruning.

"Wow!" he said, and bowed. I giggled, both at his stupid behaviour and at the feelings I kept getting from him.

"Wow?" I said, running my hand down his arm and hooking my thumb through his belt. He gave me a sidelong glance, but didn't object.

"You're so lucky, Jon, she's an ancient oak."

"Umm … what do you mean, 'ancient'?" He was looking very serious, and I wasn't used to him being anything other than frivolous. I unhooked my thumb and crossed my arms.

"No need to get defensive, Jon," Jacques said, and smiled at me. "I just meant that she's old. Actually, she's much older than your house. Legend has it that trees span many worlds. We need to ask permission if we want to prune her."

"Permission? From whom?" I was perplexed and, for some reason, began to feel annoyed. "My dad said we should prune it … unless you mean we should ask the tree?" I was about to grin, then thought better of it.

"Sure," he frowned, "what else would I mean? And she's a she, not an it."

"I … erm … had never thought of sexing trees before." He chewed on his lip, as Nyquist had done in the library, though in the five years I'd known him I'd never seen him do it before.

"I'm sorry, Jon, I keep forgetting." He cleared his throat. "Oak trees are actually monoecious, which means they produce male and female flowers and can reproduce themselves. It's just that with ancient trees, they're old enough to take on a gender, and they tend to get upset if you're not polite with them."

"Polite?" I grinned. "Come on! Pull the other leg, it has bells on it, Jacques!" I was expecting a quick joke back; what I got was a frown.

"Perhaps I was mistaken," he said, almost under his breath, and walked away from me over to the wall that surrounded the pond and sat down on the coping stones with his back to me. I guessed he was looking at the fish, and as I wasn't sure what to say, I sat down cross-legged with my back against the oak tree and watched him. He confused me, and I wasn't sure what I felt, except that whatever it was, it was more powerful and intense than any friendship I'd had before.

I'd seldom spent time just sitting. I tended to be active, rushing around, getting into trouble. If anyone was going to be caught ragging around, it would be me, and I'd decided when I went to boarding school that I'd change, grow up, become sensible, and obey the rules.

When my father had told me I was going away to school -- on the same afternoon he'd told me how to deal with bullies -- he had also said I was getting to the age where feelings would start becoming important, and that I should trust my own judgment when it came to situations and people. My judgment of Jacques was that he did something to me whenever he was near, and that whatever the something was, I liked it -- and him -- a lot.

I must have drifted off into a dream. That was the only explanation I could think of when I opened my eyes to see a tiny figure talking to Jacques, standing next to him on the wall. He was maybe a foot tall, dressed in mottled greenish-brown trousers with a forest green shirt and a bright scarlet neckerchief. A bow and a quiver of arrows were slung over his shoulder, and a short sword hung in a leather scabbard by his waist. The two seemed to be arguing.

I blinked, then started smiling. I seldom remembered dreams, and to have such a vivid one was a treat. I rubbed my eyes, gently, to avoid shattering the scene, and watched as Jacques gesticulated in annoyance.

"No, I won't, and no, you can't! I am not from your court!" He sounded angry, and I was waiting to hear the reply when a wasp stung me on the arm.

"Ow!" I couldn't help but shout aloud. As I swatted the wasp away, I saw the little man spin to face me and pull an arrow from his quiver, before letting it fly. It should have hit me in the eye; it would have hit me in the eye: but it didn't. I felt a peculiar sensation, rather like the onset of a thunderstorm, as a silver-blue light outpoured from the tree and surrounded me, milliseconds before the arrow would have struck. Instead, the arrow pierced the edge of the light and stuck there, embedded, apparently in thin air. I blinked. The arrow, which was some six inches in length with a razor-sharp flint tip, remained fixed in the air in front of me. Jacques' expression was one of shock mixed with what appeared to be amazement. I filed it away for further thought. The little man began cursing, then turned and spat at Jacques before taking a single step forward and vanishing.

"I'm not sure I like this dream," I said under my breath, squeezing my eyes shut, before opening them again and sighing. The arrow still hung in mid-air before me. I tried to move and found I couldn't, which I put down to a quirk of dreaming. I watched as Jacques got to his feet and walked over to me. He knelt down and examined the arrow before plucking it out of the air. Sniffing the arrow's tip, he frowned before snapping the shaft in two. Then he looked at me with … I can only describe it as determination. Once more I tried to move, with no success.

"This dream is just too weird," I muttered to myself.

"You think this is a dream?" For lack of anything better to do, and having a five-year adolescent friendship to maintain, I stuck my tongue out at him before answering.

"Yep, sure it is, otherwise I'd be able to get up and beat that candy-ass midget shrew who shot at me…," I frowned, "with an arrow …."

Jacques' smiled. "Yah, dreams are confusing, though they say you can find a logical explanation for them if you try." He cleared his throat. "So, Jon, what explanation do you have for this one?"

"What one?" I asked, confused. He rolled his eyes.

"Dream, dunderhead, this dream."

"Oh … well, I think …." I petered off and must have looked bemused, as Jacques smiled again.

"No idea?" I shook my head. He leant forward and pinched me on the arm.

"Oww, damn … you git!" The scene didn't melt away, I didn't wake up, I still couldn't move, and now my arm hurt. I closed my eyes.

"'s not going to help. You should thank her." I opened my eyes and found Jacques was looking up at the tree.

"Thank her? Thank who?" I started to struggle, but the silver-blue energy wouldn't let me go. As I watched, the energy field changed its hue to a silvery-green and spread out to encompass Jacques too. Jacques gasped.

"I don't believe it. Who are you, Jon?"

I felt like wussing out, and crying. As dreams go, this one was now far too bizarre for comfort. It was my garden, yet even that wasn't the same as it had been before. The ivy on the wall surrounding us seemed to be much longer than I remembered and it appeared to be moving, changing, growing before my very eyes as the energy field expanded and touched it. I closed my eyes again, this time squeezing them tightly shut.

Jacques spoke, his voice now frantic. "Stop it, Jon. Whatever you're doing, stop it now. This isn't right, the borders are fracturing!"

"Ha!" I said, keeping my eyes firmly closed. "Sorry to be a party pooper but now I'm going to wake up!"

I can't adequately describe the sensations that followed. It was as if someone reached inside my head and pulled out that which was me. I couldn't see; at the time, it didn't occur to me that it was because I had my eyes shut. I was examined -- I felt that at a deeply personal level -- and found wanting. What or who it was that examined me exuded a profound sense of love, tinged with just a hint of disappointment. There were other, darker forces trying to get at me as well, but I knew I was protected, nurtured and spoken for.

Eventually, I opened my eyes. Jacques was kneeling in front of me, frowning, and I was still sitting against the tree - though the blue-green energy field had gone.

Everything else was different, and the house and garden had vanished.

The oak tree I leant against seemed the same, but was now situated in the middle of a clearing in a wood. The wall that had surrounded the fish pond had turned into an earthen bank complete with brightly coloured ferns, whilst the pond itself had become a pool in an otherwise babbling brook.

I blinked and ran my tongue around my lips, which were bone-dry.

"Well …," I started, and Jacques' frown vanished as he burst out laughing.

"You are so … so … cute, Jon." It wasn't what I was expecting, and he laughed even louder at my expression, then got to his feet and offered me his hand. I took it, and the feeling of his hand in mine grounded me, halting the panic that was almost overwhelming. I gulped as he pulled me to my feet, and into a brief hug. The scent of his hair and the touch of his cheek against mine were all too real. He let me go, and I was pleased to be able to move, yet felt I should thank the tree for her protection … which I did, though it was a very alien concept.

"What? More alien than your garden transmogrifying as you pulled us into another realm?" Jacques was still smiling, as I let go of his hand in confusion.

"Your lips didn't move … you … you're telepathic, can read my mind?"

"What do you think? You're doing it too." He sighed. "I guess it'd be a yes, and a no." He continued in his normal speaking voice, as he stepped back a pace and waved at the wood. "Here, I can if you let me. At school and elsewhere, no; unless we are bonded and then … well … then we can, anywhere." I snorted.

"Bonded? That's helpful." I didn't want to think what being bonded might mean. "So, how long's this gonna last?"

"Hmm?" He wasn't paying me any attention, and I realized he was staring over my shoulder. "It depends where we are, Jon." I turned to see what he was looking at and felt my jaw drop in surprise. Standing at the edge of the clearing, close to where the house should have been, was a Centaur. I knew it was a Centaur because my dad had read me lots of Greek mythology as bedtime stories. Anyway, I reasoned, a man with the body of a horse couldn't really be anything else but a Centaur. I was about to mention it to Jacques when he grabbed my arm and pulled me behind him.

"Ow, Jacques, that hur …."

"Would you shut up?" he hissed. "He's angry." I was about to give him what for for grabbing me by the arm when the glowering expression on the Centaur's face stopped me.

"Yeah," I mused, "he doesn't look too happy … but then that's the up and down nature of dreams, and …."

"For the thousandth time, this isn't a …." Whatever Jacques was about to say was interrupted by the sound of hooves crashing through the wood behind us. I spun around just as a smaller version of the angry-looking Centaur came out of the undergrowth. He trotted across the clearing to us and came to a stop by Jacques, then flung his arms around him and pulled him into a hug.

"Feredir!" he said, breaking away and tapping his right forehoof in excitement. Jacques grinned at him.

"Ma'suela, my friend, it's been a long time. How are you?" They rubbed noses, smiling, the young Centaur making chuckle-y braying sounds deep in his throat.

"I well, thanke, though you no come to my birthing day moot." His voice was honeyed, sensual, and seemed to deepen as he continued, "my uncle is not best pleased at the fracture." We all turned to look at the older Centaur who was still watching us warily from the far side of the clearing.

"Thank you for coming, Ma'suela. I assure you the fracture was not intentional." Jacques clasped him briefly on the shoulder before sighing and glancing at me. Then he turned and strode across the clearing. I watched, bemused, as he bowed in a deferential manner, then started talking to the older Centaur.

"What do they call you, youth?" I turned to look at Ma'suela, who was examining me with interest.

"My name is Jonathan, but my friends call me Jon. How do you do?" I stuck my hand out. Ma'suela clopped backwards a step, looking worried.

"Why you do that?" he said, his concerned voice even deeper than before.

"Umm … it's what we say and do when we meet people," I replied. He snorted.

"Hoomanse, silly hoomanse," he said, whickered, then stretched his arm out and took my hand.

It was the sensation of his hand in mine that made me realise I wasn't dreaming. I blinked. I was shaking hands with a supposed mythical beast. And a very good-looking one at that. Slowly I shook my head, then saw he was doing the same. I let go of his hand and stepped back.

I was about to freak out when I felt a calming thought flow through me.

"Worry not, Jon." It was Jacques.

"It's all very well for you to say," I thought back, and sensed him laughing. I smiled.

"This is amazing!" I spoke aloud. Ma'suela smiled back.

"For a newly awakened, yes," he said, tilting his head to one side in a quizzical manner. From the front Ma'suela looked much like a tall teenager. His blonde hair was long and well-kept, his cheeks rosy, though his eyes were a sweet yellow, like corn before harvest, and his irises were vertical. Had he been wearing a t-shirt and jeans, he could probably have passed muster in any school in the land; but the soft, string-tied leather jerkin he wore, the bow and quiver of arrows hung over his shoulder, and the brace of wicked-looking knives held in scabbards around his waist belied normality. Not to mention his four cloven hooves. He grinned at me, then pawed at the ground with his right front hoof.

"You Feredir's Ke'fe long time?"

"Feredir?" I replied, confused, and turned to see what Jacques was doing. Neither he nor the older Centaur were in the clearing. "Where have they gone?"

Ma'suela frowned.

"A'shwali take Feredir see King."

"No, I meant where has Jacques gone?" I was beginning to get panicked. "Too strange," I muttered under my breath once again. Ma'suela put his hand on my shoulder and I felt a soothing flow of emotion suffuse my body. The panic dissipated. I coughed, feeling myself blush with embarrassment, then got the distinct feeling I shouldn't have been embarrassed to be worried.

"It strange for ye, so worry normy … when me small, da do same for me."

"Your father?" I said. He nodded, smiling.

"Ya. Da great warrior, me learn it."

I glanced across the clearing again. There was no sign of Jacques. "Will he be long?" I asked. Ma'suela shook his head.

"No long. Me think we go walk a bit." He turned, and without further ado set off downstream along the bank of the brook. I didn't have a lot of options other than to stay where I was, and I was rational enough to know that company, odd though Ma'suela was, would be better than waiting in this strange place by myself for Jacques to get back. Looking around the clearing in the vain hope my house might just re-appear, I sighed, then ran to catch Ma'suela.

I'd always been wary of the back end of horses ever since I'd been kicked by one when I was ten. But then, I thought, horses don't talk, and don't have a young man stuck on the front end. Walking behind him I saw that Ma'suela's tail was beautiful. He obviously took great pride in it, as it was plaited, and glinted with flecks of silver and gold thread as it swished and flicked from side to side. His long blonde hair cascaded down his suntanned and very human back to where it was braided into his 'horse' mane, which was a darker, almost auburn colour. His coat was darker still, and gave the impression he was pie-bald, though somehow I doubted Centaurs called it that. I wondered what it'd be like to ride him.

"Don't even think it!"

"Jacques?" I called out. Ma'suela stopped, and I walked into his rear.

"I'll be back soon, just don't … you don't ride Centaurs, Jon."

"Where are you?" I spoke aloud again, noticing Ma'suela was grinning at me.

"I'm elsewhere, but I've been … um … monitoring your thoughts." I was outraged, and he obviously got the message, as after a few seconds' silence he continued. "Sorry … I did say we could read each other's minds."

"So … I can read yours?" I replied.

"Yes, though please be careful. At least until I show you how it's done properly."

"Hmm. Ok, so where are you?" I thought. It was weird, and I could hear him mentally sighing.

"Hang on a tick." Jacques' presence vanished, and as I waited for him to return I watched Ma'suela, who had turned around to face me. He started nodding.

"Ok, Jon," Jacques continued in my mind. "Ma'suela says you're walking up the bank of the Kafuela Benzds, so he'll take you to Que'fear. It's the nearest haven to the King's moot and will be safe enough. I should be there by the time you arrive, and then I'll explain … everything … ok?" I took a deep breath. I was in a strange land, conversing mentally and looking at a real live mythical Centaur. What choice did I really have?

"Ok, Jacques."

His relief was palpable. "One other thing, Jon. Um … Here my name is Feredir, and I'm …," he trailed off. I could sense he was embarrassed, but I had no idea why

"So Jacques becomes Ferder and …."

"It's Feredir, if you don't mind … um … Prince Feredir."

"Oh!" I said, and laughed. It felt good to laugh. It was the first normal thing I'd done since being told I should ask a tree's permission to prune her. It was inadequate, but I couldn't think of anything to say to my friend who was a Prince.

*****

Ma'suela and I walked on for what seemed an age yet was probably no more than an hour. We followed a meandering path along the right bank of the Kafuela Benzds as it got wider and wider, finally becoming a river. The woods we walked through became thicker and more like a jungle, whilst the path made detours around the largest of the trees, which were similar to weeping willows, though their leaves were varying shades of purple rather than green. The path was well trodden, though we didn't meet anyone else as we walked until we came to a three-tine fork in the path. The left hand followed the Kafuela Benzds as it tumbled down an ever-widening sandy gully into a vast crystal blue lake.

It was sweltering hot, and the water looked so inviting that I was going to suggest a swim, but before I could, an old woman wearing a sari and carrying a large basket on her head hove into view. She was chanting in a language I'd never heard, though it seemed middle-eastern. Ma'suela, who was by my side, shied, turned, and I could see blatant panic in his eyes before he cantered off back the way we'd come, leaving me standing there. I didn't know what else to do except ask Jacques.

"Umm … sorry to bother you, but Ma'suela's frightened and has left me, and there's …," I projected. Then, without reason, I knew that Jacques hadn't heard me, and I knew it was because of the old woman. She came to a stop in front of me and with a sigh of relief took the basket off her head. I stood watching as she rummaged around in it before pulling out what looked like a mango. She looked at me, her eyes a blood-orange red.

"You are a stranger here." It wasn't a question, but I acted as if it were and nodded.

"Yes, I am." She half-curtsied, a small smile playing over her lips. I watched as she drew a wicked, sharp knife from her basket and sliced the mango in half, sucking and crunching at the stone before throwing it into the river. With a flourish, she offered me half of the fruit. Thinking of Snow White, I managed a smile as I took it.

"Thank you."

"'tis a pleasure, Walker," she said, taking a bite of her mango. "You are the Walker, are you not?" she continued, the juice of the fruit running down her chin. I frowned, unsure how to answer, which in hindsight was lucky.

"From the clearing upstream, yes." She glared at me, her eyes flaring, and I couldn't help taking a step backwards. There was something about her that I found frightening, something that, in the sweltering heat, sent a shiver down my spine.

"This is a dangerous place for the unwary, Walker," she said, and with an audible pop, she, and her basket, vanished.

I blinked, then felt a squirming in my palm. I looked in horror as the half of the mango she'd given me writhed with large florid maggots. They seemed to be grinning at me -- which was my excuse for the scream. I flung the fruit into the bushes, and was rewarded by another scream as Ma'suela came crashing out out of the undergrowth and leapt over my head into the river, brushing maggots off his pelt.

"Stoopid hoomanse!" he wailed as he made his way down to the lake and, taking a deep breath, disappeared underwater.

"What just happened?" Jacques said, and I was so glad to hear him I started laughing. Ma'suela came up for air, then shook himself, the water cascading off him in myriad drops, each one seeming to cast a rainbow. It was a magical sight. I stopped laughing, sat down and sighed, before explaining to Jacques what had happened. He was angry with Ma'suela, incandescent with me for being so stupid, then puzzled.

"She asked if you were the Walker?"

"Yes, she did, and anyway, I don't see why you're cross with me! I've never been to your stupid country before, so how was I to know who to avoid? Hmm?" "I thought you said you were dreaming?" He sounded amused, though I sensed an undertone of worry in his thoughts.

"Well, yes I did, and I was, and maybe … maybe I still am, who knows?" I replied, still peeved.

"You do, Jon. You do .… look, you must get to Que'fear as soon as you can. I'll be on my way soon." I smiled, as I felt an emotional warmth I'd only ever read about come through with his thoughts.

"A quick swim first!" I thought to Jacques as I walked down to the bank of the lake and stripped to my underwear. Looking glum, Ma'suela watched over me as I waded in and started frolicking.

*****

Clean and refreshed, I walked out of the lake and let the sun dry me as Ma'suela apologised over and over again for running away, until I got tired of it and told him to shut up. I got dressed, and we walked back from the lake to the fork in the path and took the righthand tine, which led uphill. Soon we were leaving the lush purples, greens and blues of the valley and lake behind us. The going got tougher as the sun became hotter, and the hillside grass turned from greens to browns.

"Ma'suela," I said after a while. I was sweating, and bursting, too.

"Yes, Jono." I smiled at his pronunciation of my name.

"Um … I'm busting for a pee."

"A pee, Jono?"

"Ya, you know. I've got to go, and I've got to go soon." I was beginning to feel harassed. Ma'suela, who was in the lead, stopped and turned around, frowning.

"Go where, Jono? We there soon."

"You know!" I mimed peeing, and he grinned at me. I blushed and cursed my stupid bladder.

"So go," he said. I looked around, but the hill was bare of convenient vegetation. I turned back to him and sighed.

"Turn around then, please." He snorted.

"Silly, silly hoomanse!" He snorted again, then, shrugging, turned his back on me and trotted a hundred yards up the hill. I sighed in relief.

The sun was low on the horizon and I was almost asleep on my feet, when we arrived at the crest of the hill and halted. Taking a few deep breaths, I looked around. It was almost as if I were viewing the landscape through the wrong end of a telescope. We had reached a ridge that seemed to stretch for miles. Looking down on the valley we'd come from, I could see the Kafuela Benzds meandering along close to the valley floor until it dropped and fed into the lake, which seemed even larger from the ridge than it had when we'd been standing on its shore. Though I couldn't see it, the clearing where it had all begun must have been miles away.

On the other side of the ridge lay a valley that was a mirror image of the one we'd just climbed out of. I kept looking from one to the other trying to spot something different, but I couldn't. Both had lakes, both had rivers -- though when I mentioned it to Ma'suela he snorted, and said he didn't know what I meant. It was confusing, and I determined to ask Jacques about it.

Ma'suela urged me on along the ridge, and after a few minutes we arrived at a rocky outcrop that totally blocked the path. I sighed in frustration.

"What now, Ma'suela?"

He snickered, and led me to the front of a large slab inscribed with a column of hieroglyphs, then took my right hand in his left.

"You feel power soon, Jono," he said, and raised my hand into the air, then raised his right arm too.

"Ready?"

"Can I talk to Jacques, please?"

"Feredir no here, Feredir waiting there," Ma'suela said, which didn't help my confidence at all. Then he started to chant.

I felt a fey power building inside me, though I had no idea where it was coming from. It grew, and as it grew I saw motes of light begin to seep from the hieroglyphs in front of us and encircle our bodies, spinning around us like the vortex of a hurricane. Faster and faster they came, and faster and faster the vortex spun. As Ma'suela's chanting continued, the words came unbidden into my mind, and I found myself joining in. Just as the energy seemed to want to rip me apart, Ma'suela slapped my hand down on the center of the slab, covering it with his own. With a ripping crack the energy from within me merged with that of the vortex and flew back into the hieroglyphs, and the rock face rent in two, revealing a tunnel large enough to afford us passage.

I was stunned and, still holding his hand, stumbled along beside Ma'suela as he strode forward into the tunnel mouth. As soon as we had crossed the threshold, with a rumbling sound, the entranceway closed behind us.

I thought it would be dark; I thought the tunnel would lead into a cave, but after a hundred feet or so we walked out into an impossibility, and I felt my mouth open in astonishment.

We had been walking along a thin ridgeline between two valleys with the setting sun to light our way, yet now the sun was high in the sky and I was looking at a vast grassy plain with a herd of what looked like - but for sanity's sake couldn't have been - purple and blue yaks, with bright yellow horns. Ma'suela's presence, and his hand holding mine, stopped me from freaking out as in the distance I saw what I'd only ever read about: dragons; real flesh and blood flying dragons.

I continued to look around in amazement, for not only were there dragons, but further across the plain, and past the herd of placidly grazing yaks, was the strangest village I'd ever seen. It comprised a series of large, gaily painted rotunda, which wouldn't have been out of place in an African country except for their towers. I couldn't be sure what they were for, but each rotunda had five: one in the middle, and four spaced equidistantly around the edge, and they must have been at least a hundred feet tall. As I looked, a puff of red smoke followed by a gout of blue shot out of the nearest tower, and hovered in the air before dispersing in the wind.

As we got closer to the village we walked past a corral in which a baby dragon was being bathed by a number of young children, whilst a woman looked on from a safe distance. In front of the hitching rail outside the largest rotunda stood several saddled yaks, and what looked like a saddled Centaur, though I thought it best not to mention it to Ma'suela.

We'd turned right as we left the tunnel, and by my reckoning we should have been floating in midair over the valley near the Kafuela Benzds. I was stumbling along, still clasping Ma'suela's hand and beginning to think it really was a dream, when I saw Jacques sitting on a boulder close to the village. He was talking to two older men in uniforms who reminded me of Kempton, the dormitory bully. He saw us coming and leapt up.

"Jacques!" I said with delight as he walked up to me and clapped me on the back.

"Feredir, it's Feredir, please," he said, smiling.

"Should I call you 'Prince'?" I replied acerbically, before it occurred to me that the older men were his guards. His smile remained in place, though he shot me a look of caution.

"Not another word until we talk, Jon, please," he said, telepathically, then turned to Ma'suela. "Ma'suela, with thanks, old friend, for bringing Jon to Que'fear." He patted the young Centaur on the shoulder, and Ma'suela bowed deeply.

"'tis a privilege to serve thee, oh Prince," he replied formally. "I will wait for thee and thy Ke'fe."

The two guards almost had their swords out before Feredir put up his hand and stopped them.

"He's Ke'fa, my friend, Ke'fa. Not Ke'fe." Ma'suela looked appalled, though I had no idea why, and bowed deeply again.

"My apologies, Prince." With a withering snort at the guards, Ma'suela slapped me on the back, then trotted off into the village. Feredir turned to look at the guards.

"You can leave us now. Jon and I need to talk, and we will eat. Should I require you I will call."

"We cannot leave you, Your Highness, your father gave explicit instructions an …."

"I am Feredir, Prince of the realm; you will do as I say or suffer the consequences." He spoke in a mild manner, without rancour, and I watched as the guards shuffled off backwards, muttering apologies. Feredir sighed, then looked at me and winked.

"Right, food and talk … or would you prefer talk and food?"

"Um … former, 'cause I'm hungry enough to eat a hors …." I realized what I was about to say and blushed.

"Don't worry, no horses here, Jon. Now, if you'd started to say Centaur you might have reason to be embarrassed." He grinned. We traipsed up the path and after a couple of minutes entered the village proper and came to a rotunda that was an inn. It looked idyllic. The sun was shining, and tables had been set for eating outside. Only one table was occupied; by a young girl and an older man. Feredir and I took the table furthest from them, and sat down.

"Shit, Jon, I am so sorry. I had no idea at all." I was about to reply when I realized his lips hadn't moved.

"You're in my head again," I said aloud. He winced.

"Yes, and for good reason. Please, let's talk that way while we're here. I really don't want to be overheard." He took the cloth off a wooden bowl in the center of the table, and the smell of freshly baked bread that hit us was mouthwatering. He took a bread roll. "Ouch!" he said, tossing it from hand to hand. "It's damn hot." It certainly smelt good, so I grabbed one too and slathered butter on it. It was as delicious as it smelt.

"Can you hear me?" I began. Feredir rolled his eyes.

"Yes, I can," he said, then giggled aloud. I saw the old man at the far table look at us, then murmur something to the girl. She scowled.

"Tell me then, please, Jacques." He took another roll and buttered it before looking at me, a glint of amusement in his eyes.

"You still don't really believe, do you?" He raised his eyebrows, to which I shook my head. He sighed. "Ah well, I guess I don't blame you. From your point of view this could well be a dream." My mouth fell open as I felt his hand on my knee.

"Jacques, I …." The hand vanished as an old woman bustled out of the inn, carrying a jug and two beakers.

"Mead, boys, and for food?"

"What have you?" I asked, to Feredir's astonishment.

"Usual, 'sall." She coughed and spat on the floor by my …. I suddenly realized I wasn't wearing the clothes I'd had on when we'd gone out into the garden earlier. I had been wearing jeans, a t-shirt and a pair of rather nice sneakers. Now I had leggings made of some soft twill, leather calf boots, and a cambric shirt under a string-drawn jerkin similar to Ma'suela's. I came close to fainting, and didn't only because Feredir place his hand on my wrist. The woman spat again. "We don't like Ke'fe here," she said, and was about to walk away when Feredir slammed his hand on the table and drew out a locket from under his jerkin. The old woman turned from old crone into very frightened old crone.

"I 'sorry, sire, believe ye Gerty knew nuthint about nuthint, silly Gerty!" She giggled almost hysterically as she stood there, quaking.

"The usual would be fine, Gerty, thank 'e," Feredir said mildly, watching the two at the far table out of the corner of his eye. "Mistakes are easy to make." He took a coin out of an inner pocket and placed it in Gerty's hand. "Don't speak of this, Gerty … ever." She nodded and shuffled off to return a couple of minutes later with two heaped bowls of stew.

"Here y'ar good sirs, kind sirs, fine si …."

"Thank you!" I interrupted her honorific. "Now leave us to our food, Gerty, please." Gerty looked at me and smiled, displaying an off-putting array of rotten teeth, before waddling off. We grinned at each other and tucked in. The stew was good, rich and filling, and before long I was as full as I'd ever been. Probably something to do with the air, I thought, then smiled at the thought: it was something my mother would have said. Feredir noticed.

"Why the smile, Jon?" I looked into his questioning eyes and shrugged.

"Just happy, I guess."

"Happy's good … 'cause I have something to tell you."

"Uh huh," I replied picking up another piece of bread and tearing it in half before deciding I was too full. "What?" He frowned, then perked up as Ma'suela came over. He wasn't looking happy either, and I wondered how I could possibly know what an unhappy Centaur looked like; then realized I could see his aura. He definitely wasn't happy.

"What's wrong, Ma'suela?" I asked.

"Thee and me can'e go back." He started pawing the ground with his front hoofs, a keening sound coming from his throat.

"Why?" I asked, not sure what he meant. "I mean, where … the valley? Where can't we go back to? Tell me!"

"Home," Ma'suela and Feredir said together. I felt my jaw drop open.

"But … but we've got to prune the tree before dad gets home," I said, "and mother was cooking a roast dinner." Feredir's eyes shut me up. I'd never seen him looking so unhappy. "Ok, enough's enough!" I almost screamed, pinching myself hard on the arm. Nothing happened, except my arm began to throb.

"Why he do that, Feredir?" Ma'suela stopped keening to ask, then began again.

"Please 'suela," Feredir muttered, and the surprised Centaur calmed down, then grabbed a hunk of bread from the bowl, tearing into it.

Out of the corner of my eye I watched as the man at the far table hurriedly threw some coins on his plate, grabbed the girl by the arm and set off towards the field.

"Where are they going in such a hurry?" I asked, turning back to Feredir as I did. His mouth was open, and he had a stupid grin on his face. "What?" I said testily, then glanced at Ma'suela, who was looking troubled.

"Glowing is obvious. I right," Ma'suela said, pawing the ground. "Why you lie to me, Feredir?"

"I didn't lie to you, Ma'suela. I really didn't. I'd hoped, but I had no idea."

"What are you two talking about?" I was feeling more than ratty, and now they were behaving as if I weren't there, and I was feeling distinctly left out. "Please?"

Feredir stood up, took some coins out of his belt, and put them on the table before taking my hand. I gasped. I'd never felt anything like it before.

"Proof, Ma'suela?" Feredir said.

"Proof," the Centaur replied. "We go now afore too late." I snatched my hand away and the feeling almost vanished.

"Jon, we need your help," Feredir said, looking down at me. I looked back at him, the sun rim lighting his hair. I could see his aura, and it was clear and it showed … I gulped.

"What should I do?" I replied, getting to my feet. I could see the man and the little girl talking to Feredir's guards, who had been lounging against the rock in the field and were now standing, looking in our direction.

"We are going to hold hands, and you are going to think of the woods by Green's library." He was staring at me with an expression I couldn't fathom, but which made me feel all gooey inside.

"The woods?"

"Uh huh, the woods. I know you watch them; I've seen you do it often enough." I felt myself blushing.

"You've watched me?"

"Yes." He smiled, and I was aware that Ma'suela was getting nervous.

"What are your men doing?" I asked. Feredir turned to look then grabbed my hand. His guards were now running towards us.

"Now, Jon, now! For love's sake, now!"

I felt the fey power begin to gather again as I closed my eyes. I was aware of the guards shouting and the sound of their pounding feet. I was aware of Ma'suela's panic, and distinctly aware of Feredir's proximity. I pictured the tree, the one I knew best of all those in the wood. I saw her fat, tall, ancient trunk, her stooping branches, I saw her children spread out around her, felt her, knew her, and for an infinitesimal time was her.

The shouting and pounding feet stopped. Still I kept my eyes closed, feeling Feredir's hand in mine, and realized that my other hand was being held too.

"Thank the Wey, we're safe," Feredir said aloud before he pulled me into a hug I'd been dreaming about for years. I opened my eyes as he kissed me chastely on the cheek before letting me go. I stared in wonder. The tree I'd envisioned was right before us, and I found myself bowing to her before turning around to see what Green looked like from the wood.

"Where's Green … where's the school?" I said, feeling deep-rooted panic welling up. Feredir glanced at Ma'suela, who was avoiding looking at me, though his aura showed he was a lot happier than he had been at Que'fear.

Except for birdsong, the wood was quiet as the grave.

Feredir coughed and took my hand again. I glanced at him, then back at the empty glade where Green house and the rest of the school should have been.

"I told you I'd explain everything," Feredir said. I gave up looking at the glade and turned to him.

"Yes, you did." I don't know what he was expecting me to say, but I caught the quick glance he gave Ma'suela, and saw a cloud cross his face. His thumb started to stroke my palm, almost hypnotically. "So … tell me, then."

"I'm … I'm…," he blushed, and looked at Ma'suela pleadingly. The Centaur raised his eyebrows comically.

"He's an Elf," Ma'suela said.

I looked at them both and blinked.

"Oh."

Feredir's mouth dropped open in surprise. "Oh! Oh? Is that all you've got to say?"

"What would you like me to say, Jacques? I'm in the middle of a familiar, yet totally strange forest with a Centaur … which, in case you've forgotten, are mythical creatures by any stretch of the imagination … and now I'm told you're an Elf. Oh, yes, sorry, and a Prince called Feredir, too. What did you expect? I'll give you this, though. It's a fantabulous dream!"

"This is not a damn dream, Jon." He was starting to get cross, though he still held my hand, the gentle rubbing of his thumb doing things to me I didn't want to think about. "You can't be the Walker, so who are you, really?"

"Me?" I replied, astounded. "Me? I've known you for five years, without any idea of who you really are, and you have the gall to ask who I am!" I struggled to get my hand free, but he'd always been stronger than I had. With the knowledge that he wouldn't let me go came the realization that he didn't want to let me go, that he felt for me what I'd secretly felt for him since …. I stopped struggling and opened my eyes. "Since forever."

"Since forever, Jon?"

"There's something I … something … you and I … sempiternity." I closed my eyes and was lost. I was truly lost, and extraneous feelings and thoughts were hitting me faster than I could process them. I wanted to scream in fear, I wanted to dance with joy, and I wanted …. I opened my eyes and knew that we were in peril.

Almost without thinking, I spun my hand so I had hold of Feredir's wrist and at the same time grabbed Ma'suela's elbow. The feeling of dread was almost overwhelming me, and as I fought to clear my mind I concentrated on the library. Though I'd never seen it from the woods, there was a fine oil painting hanging on the wall above the librarian's desk. It showed Green, nestled in a clearing in the woods. In the background of the painting the clouds scudded low and dark, and though it wasn't visible I had always thought there was a thunderstorm approaching. In the foreground a single shaft of sunlight illuminated a cricket match, with the batsman, dressed in immaculate whites, about to hit the ball. I'd always liked the painting, though there was something distinctly odd about the composition: nonetheless, I was now glad I'd spent so long studying it.

I shut my eyes to better visualize the painting. The sense of something evil fast approaching was now palpable, and almost overpowering as I tried to concentrate on the image of the painting in my mind's eye. The fey power built faster this time, coming to my call, creeping through the ground around us. I felt it enter through the soles of my feet and flood my body, and as I took us and we fled the glade, I felt the utter frustration of whatever it was that was hunting us.

"Safe, we're safe," Ma'suela said as I let go of his elbow, exhausted. The sounds of willow hitting leather and the polite clapping of the crowd as the players made their runs intruded, and I opened my eyes just in time to see Ma'suela vanish behind the trees at the edge of the forest.

"So … we're safe, then," I said to Feredir, unsure. He was looking over my shoulder, his face devoid of expression.

"For now, Jon." His eyes flicked to me and I saw how worried he was. "We have to get back, before it's too late … before the fracture is irreparable."

"But we are …." He shook his head and pointed, a small smile playing over his lips. I turned and followed his gaze.

"Since when have we played cricket with a team of satyrs?"

 

 

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Notes

This started out being a boarding school story. Hmm. Best laid plans, and all that. I think the muse found some tablets I'd hidden.

Cast and terms.

Jonathan Sharp - the hero.
Jacques Lavallier / Feredir - the hero's friend.
Kempton - the bully.
Calanon - Elven name. Means 'light'
Feredir - Elven name. Means 'hunter'
Mirima - the librarian.
Ma'suela - a young Centaur.
Que'fear - the nearest haven to the King's moot. Get there through the portal on the ridge.
Ke'fa - friend.
Ke'fe - lover.

There are many worlds. An infinite number, each slightly different. The further away you 'slip', the more different the world becomes.

The Wey is a philosophical, metaphysical approach to life favoured by the fey.
A Walker is one who can world slip at will. Walkers are often followers of the Wey, but not always.

Many Worlds Theory - I'm a firm believer in this, and it's what I want to explore with Feredir and Jon. The reason I'm a firm believer is that I have proof, though like seeing ghosts the proof is personal, and most people would laugh. Nevertheless, it's made me a believer. The trick is to be able to slip worlds at will, and this I can't do ... Yet! ;)

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