The Key of Neverhence - Chapter 4: Paninae

A happy stew of song and spring stirred inside my soul. In the distance, I saw myself lying in an empty field, as if gazing at a picture far away. Nestled in the clouds sat a winding meadow where tiny froglings hopped through shades of gold and green, and a cheerful melody followed them through. Birds sang, and a breath of fresh air washed over me.

Stir the pot

Round and round

No telling

What you’ll find

Stir the pot

Raw and rough

The truth

Lies deep inside

Slowly I opened my eyes. Lurid hues and the smell of fresh roses nearly convinced me that I was still in Holloway Springs except for one notable difference: unlike the quaint little town, there wasn’t a faery for as far as the eye could see.

As I stood, the ground began to rumble. Creatures of the meadow hopped up and down, pointing to the sky.

Look look look

It must be for you

Look look look

It’s calling for you

A silver door materialized from the clouds, its markings pulsing with the swell of the lyrics.

Finally I’d had enough. “No more damned songs!” I screamed.

Abruptly the music stopped. Blue-tailed boggies, floppy-eared hoppers and winged piglets turned and stared. Now that was more like it.

A moment later the song began anew:

Call it over

That’s all there is

Call it over

See what it is

“I’m not calling over anything.” I turned and walked away.

The silver door slammed into the meadow. A wave of magic rushed over the land, painting the grass blue and sky pink.

I turned and considered the door, noticing it had only missed me by a few short feet. The etchings seemed vaguely familiar, a blend of Timaran and Elven scripts wrapped in intricate knots. I edged closer, eager to explore the grooves with my bare hands. Before my fingers could graze the surface, thousands of doors crashed into the meadow, lasting several moments until every eardrum had been completely shattered.

Cautiously I raised my head, hands and knees still shaking. Doors of every shape and size filled the meadow: some tall and slender with a light cream finish, others thick and wide and caked over with brash hues. One after another they stood, like an array of dominoes, culminating with the tall, cherry door before me.

“Quickly, quickly, choose one now,” said one of the floppy-eared hoppers.

“I don’t think that would be wise.” I scratched my mustache. Still I could not help but marvel at the zany assortment of wood and paint before me. In the distance a black door caught my eye, the largest in the meadow by far. “What is that?” I pointed.

“Oh, don’t let that one scare you.” A boggie with yellow peepers hopped on my shoulder. “It just represents all the faery kingdoms mixed into one.” Fire blasted from the door’s hinges. “At least that’s what my mommy told me.” He jumped down my robe.

I shook him off, and scanned over the doors. Each glowed with an inhuman energy, eager to regurgitate their grim secrets. “Perhaps some doors are better left unopened.”

“But you must pick one before it picks you,” the frogling croaked.

“The only thing I’m going to do is catch up on a little sleep.” I searched for a soft tuft of grass and plopped down. “Wake me up if it starts raining magic doors again.”

“But you can’t sleep—not here,” said floppy-ears.

“And why not?”

“Because you will only be dreaming about being asleep.”

“Huh?” The cottontail totally lost me.

“And what if you have a dream within that dream?” said the boggie.

“Or a dream within a dream within a dream?” said a flying piglet.

“Dreamlock,” they gasped.

“You will never find your way out again,” the piglet touched down next to me.

“For heaven’s sake!” I rose. “Now look-” But before I could say another word, the cherry door jumped forward and swallowed me.

The Sweetest Stalklings (Part II)

Without a seed to mark the way, Queen Smira and her three boglings set out in search of the weeping willow. After a few paces, Smira quickly realized that the swamp was overrun with willows.

“Which one do you think it is?” Yeka asked.

“The one that’s weeping, silly.” Ñekkum bonked her on the head.

“Momma…pee-pee” Gagem pointed.

“Hold it a moment longer, dear.” The queen looked around.

“Maybe we could ask him.” Yeka pointed to an orangish-brown scatterfoot with hundreds of chained segments, three legs adorning each partition. “Hey Mister, do you know where we can find a weeping willow?”

“Hmm…a weeping willow, you say?” the arthropod scratched his head.

Suddenly a clear, green liquid squirted in his face.

“Gagem!” Smira snapped as the wily tot hiked up his pants and ran off.

“It seems to have slipped my mind. Good day, goblings.” He glared at Gagem, and crawled under a log.

“No, wait,” said Smira, but the insect was gone.

As the day dragged on, the task of locating the weeping willow proved more elusive.

“Perhaps daddy meant a sleeping willow. There are plenty of those around here,” said Yeka.

“And creepy willows.” Ñekkum pointed to a black tree with twisted branches and spiders the size of his hand scattering from cocoon to cocoon.

Gagem tugged Smira’s dress.

“Not again.” She looked down.

“Pee-pee,” Gagem giggled.

The queen took the child over to a cluster of tall weeds and waited.

“Are you out of your mind?” A spotted owl flew out, shaking its feathers. “Is this how goblins introduce themselves around here?”

“I am sorry, maam.” Smira pulled up Gagem’s pants, and tucked him behind her. “We are trying to find a weeping willow, but no one will talk to us.”

“No one will talk to you because you are a bunch of wretched goblins.” She circled and flew off.

As the sun began to fall, the queen decided to retrace her steps, and search for the willow another day; but quickly she found herself going in circles. “Oh no,” Smira gasped. “If we do not find our way soon, we will have to sleep in the swamp.”

“Oh please, please, please. Can we spend the night out here?” Yeka pleaded.

“Yeah, that would be cool,” said Ñekkum.

“There are creatures in this swamp with appetites more voracious than ours,” Smira warned. “Wait a minute, where’s Gagem?”

“Where do you think?” Ñekkum pointed to a bush.

Suddenly a creature roared. Gagem scampered out of the brush as a two-headed serpent with knotted horns charged after him.

“Children, run!” Smira snatched up Gagem, and scurried through the mire.

The beast chased them through the wetlands till the water turned black and only shadows loomed before them. Smira scooped up the three tots, and hid under a tree as the hydra sniffed around and continued on.

“I have failed you, my sweet stalklings. Pray that we make it through the night.” As tears fell from her eyes, more trickled down from the leaves above.

“What is it with that boy? Perhaps he drinks too much swamp water,” said the owl. “Fate smiles upon thee. ‘Tis the willow you seek.” She flapped her wings, and drew closer. “What brings you to this part of the swamp?”

“My husband sent me on an errand to find an imp named Tutis.” Smira dried her eyes as more tears rained down.

“An imp? Is that what I look like?” The owl transformed into a slender sprite with long, brown hair covering her naked body, green eyes like gems, and a ring of feathers crowning her head. “‘Changeling’ would be closer to the mark.” Tutis combed her umber locks. “Still you have not answered my query. What brings you here?”

“To enroll my children in Hollawree,” said Smira.

“You are misinformed. I am no registrar; but your wandering eyes tell there is something more.”

“My children…have a hunger that cannot be staved.” The queen shielded herself from the downpour.

“Tell me more of their addiction.” The mystic leaned forward.

“They have a keen taste for celery, the very flesh our king is made of.”

“A goblin’s hunger cannot be completely averted, and stamping it out only makes it burn brighter,” Tutis chuckled. “Since he is your husband, why do you not ask for the same remedy? Are you not also afflicted?”

“Celery is poison to me,” said Smira. “I break out in hives each time I devour a piece.”

“Very well.” Tutis snapped off a twig. “Take this sprig, and stab it in the waters beyond the thornlands.”

“Sprig? But I was told that you would baptize us.”

“This willow is meant to purify the soul, though I have my doubts about its effect on goblins.” Tutis whipped her wet locks from her face. “For the change you seek, you will have to travel farther north. Be careful within its influence. Their hunger can be bound to anything…absolutely anything.” She transformed into the owl and flew off.

“Wait. How do I get there? I do not know where I am now,” Smira cried.

“Gogus will take you,” said the changeling. The beast slithered out of the shadows, one head licking the other with its black tongue. The owl sat, perched atop one of its horns.

The three infants scattered under Queen Smira’s dress.

“Come now, Gogus. Don’t make me expose your secret.” Tutis tickled the hydra’s scales with her feathers. “Gogus feeds on moss alone, cured by the very waters that you seek. Once there, you must drop in two items: the one that will lose is influence, and the other that will be reinforced. You have one chance to do this, and one chance only. Do not screw it up.”

“Very well.” Smira carefully scaled the serpent, holding her young ones tight. “And what if something does happen?”

“The predicament is yours to untangle.” The owl returned to the tree.

“Then untangle it I shall.” The beast turned and fled into the night.

The Sweetest Stalk (Revised & Extended)

Smira of the swampland was she; daughter of hollow, goblin princess of bog. And heinous she was, even to goblin eyes, and it seemed nothing could be done of it. Then one day she sent herself on an errand, leaving behind a trail of seeds.

"Silly Smira," her half-brother Kamm sneered, a radish-hued swampling with her father's cruel brow. "Celery cannot grow in swamps. Foolish you are to think that one day you could be queen."

"So it shall be. You will see," said she.

And off she went, deep into the tangled wetlands where wandering eyes strained to see. At last she arrived at the spot, and thrust her claws deep. On and on she toiled, dredging deeper into the muck, kicking up sickly shades in the emerald waters. As fatigue crept in, she dug in her heels, until at last she bumped across something stout. "This is it," she pawed with renewed vigor.

From the muddy pulp she fished out a tattered purse, the one that the faery had chimed about.

Not too shallow

Nor too deep

This taxing trove

Yours to keep

She filled it with seeds from under her dress, and buried it once more. "On and out they shall sprout. Till magic binds and stalks unwind." She danced.

The aid of faery magic was essential, especially if she hoped to grow anything in these lands. It saddened her to think what her brethren might do if they happened upon the spritely spirit. Darklings were cruel scavengers at heart, with a keen taste for faery flesh. To spare her soul, she did not lend an ear to their dastardly tales of faery treachery, but their wicked words still resonated.

At last the swamp illuminated. Eagerly she scooped up the shambled reticule. From its feeble cloth she plucked out a single seed, unlike the hundreds poured in. Closer still she peered, the seedling shining like a star. Abruptly it sprung from her hand, and burst from its gelatin shell. She gawked at her bounty: a tangle of limp, spidery leaves and nothing more.

"What am I to do with this weed?" She tossed it in the mire. Bubble it did, all around, till the waters steamed into a fetid broth. A creature of the swamp's refuse rose, bemoaning its labored invocation. "Slumberwort, why do you steal me from my sojourn?"

"Not I. A faery made you be. I came to her, seeking stalk for my murky haven, and instead she delivered you, o servant of stringweed."

"A faery? From what divine quarter?"

"Underwood."

"Underwood is fowl," he grumbled. "A boggie's bowl of fright found you in place."

"Indeed," she frowned. "What shall I do? A touch of celery I must find, to love and nourish my mingy peers."

"Must you?"

"If I do not raise stalk, then these lands will forever be deemed a wasteland, as will I. No suitor of noble virtue will have me."

"Are you suggesting a goblin prince? Do such things exist?"

"Aye. And celery is the goblin gold that springs them from their muddy holes. A princess am I." She curtsied.

"Indeed," he replied. "Heart of gold, take mine of kale; from it all things prosper. In return, all that I ask for is the purse from whence I came."

Smira thought it a fair exchange, and handed it over. And in her hand he placed his final offering before recoiling back into the putrid waters.

A fair distance back she trekked, skipping from puddle to puddle with glee. In her father's dying oak she placed the heartling, and abruptly a stalk of celery shot into the sky. Creatures gathered from all around, gaping at the vast vegetable.

“Whoever did this must be a mage of the highest prowess,” elves whispered among themselves.

“‘Twould be my sister, Smira,” Kamm grinned.

Many offered their hand, goblin and human alike. ‘Stalkers’ her father called them, and he would have none of it.

The neverglade teemed with curiosity till the giant stalk grew seeds of its own. More and more stalks shot up, and soon its legion began to sing. Not sweet lullabies of fae, mind you, but wretched rants that shattered the ear. The celery just would not stop growing, nor singing.

Desperate to stave off the masses from fleeing his kingdom, King Gondegook called Smira to his throne. He inquired about her trip to the mudlands, and when she told him about the faery and the beast, his face darkened. "I warned you about playing with faeries. Now they have played us."

"But father, all the beast wanted was the purse from which it sprouted."

"Purse? From whence?"

“Deep in the mire. No more did I imagine its use."

"‘Twas not a purse, but a faery trinket, buried long ago and hoped forgotten." Gondegook’s massive hands shook with rage. "Reclaim gifts, faeries cannot. Duped into returning the harvest bag, you have."

"But gave his heart did he, this creature of the bog."

"A trick. ‘Twas the faery all along. And how many seedlings did you drop in?"

"Hundreds," she frowned.

"Then a hundredfold shall rise. Faeries they are, forged from the flesh of celery."

Suddenly the stalks sprung to life, tearing out their roots, and dancing in the bog. They jumped down the muddy lodgings, caroling their sadistic chants, enough to send all of Gooklun fleeing into the wastelands. Unable to stomach their hideous shrieks, Gondegook and the royal family exited the swamp, leaving behind but one.

Smira gaped at the faery folk, her accidental creation. And from them, the sweetest helping stepped forward.

"Beautiful creature, a princess you must be," said he.

“And thee, a prince,” she blushed.

“Hopefully I regale the fantasy you hold dear,” he smiled. “Dillsing I am known.”

“Dillsing.” She peered at his silver stalk. “A name meant for a king.”

“I would be honored if I could have yours.”

Awestruck, she could not move her lips nor tongue, her heart swelling larger than it had before.

Soon after, he offered his hand, and this one she accepted. And so Smira became Queen of Hollowree, the unlikely union between goblin and enchanted stalk. Though not the fairest, Smira was adored by all of Adura, her loyal subjects making her rich in more ways than she could fathom.

Yet this is not the place for words such as ‘Happy’ and ‘Ending,’ for strange things happen when you mix faeries and goblins alike.

The Key of Neverhence - Chapter 2: Giggle Worms

© Claudia McKinney and Tiffany Mize-Carter

Ivy snatched my hand as sparks of light shot from her wings. Before I could rip my hand away, the meadow spun out from beneath us. Higher and higher we arced until all was lost in a misty haze. Slowly our speed tapered off as we slipped through an opening in the tree’s canopy. Snuggled deep in the tree’s embrace, a town sparkled below.

“This is Holloway Springs,” Ivy whispered.

Silver spires swept by as we glided past a series of towers and sundecks. Carved into Holloway Springs’ upper extremities lay the housing communities of Y’nnowyn, Merrymore, and Lillipucker Folley. Painted decks gift-wrapped the dwellings with vanilla, cherry, and grape trim.

As we drifted below, more of the town’s stunning architecture came into view. My heart raced as I realized that one of the domes sat atop a giant library. Had the faeries really discovered the invention known as books? Perhaps there was a place for me after all, at least for a couple weeks.

Town Square was a spectacle unto itself: A series of conjoined discs with minimal structural support hung in the air. Main Street, the causeway snaking through the heart of Halloway Springs, teemed with bustling gardens, quaint little coffee shops and cascading fountains that poured into the levels below. A series of arching bridges tied together the remaining communities of Etherharp, Dewdrop and Wandering Way.

Amidst our descent, the unmistakable scent of chocolate came over me. I would later discover that every town in Timara had its own invisible chocolate shop; obviously some amenities were more important than others.

Not as much as a peep could be heard as our feet met the cobblestone. My eyes scanned over the barren streets and storefronts, wondering how I’d missed the endless array of clothing stores and jewelry boutiques that dominated the strip. I guess selective memory was in full swing.

Cautiously I stepped forward, footsteps echoing through the abandoned streets.

I could feel their eyes upon me. The faeries probably didn’t know what to make of me—an old geezer with a thick gray mustache and a bramble of spinach trailing from his chinny-chin-chin. Was it possible that I was in fact Y’velina’s new groom? I pondered that myself.

“Perhaps we should have knocked first,” I quipped.

Ivy circled, playing out the charade. “Hmm…something’s not quite right here. What could it be?”

A child giggled nearby.

Ivy replied:

What is that I hear?

An angel whispering

Into my ear?

It puzzles

Befuddles me

Ever so dear

Bringing laughter

And a tear

More giggles. Ivy raised an eyebrow.

Giggle worm

Wiggle worm

Fiendish and spry

Tickle my belly

Until I cry

Wallow

In the hollow

Of my silver-leafed bed

Till I’ve not a whimper

Nor tear to be shed

Applause erupted from every corner.

I may not see you

Not quite yet

I may not hear you

Oh quite yet

But if I feel you

I might just get

A smile from wing to wing

More hands found their way together.

“More?” Ivy giggled.

The high-pitched cacophony hailed her on.

“Well,” Ivy bit her lip. “Perhaps one more.”

On the road to Holloway Springs

A voice in the air did sing

Of a daughter of fae

Lost in the fray

In a battle of future kings

And journey she did from afar

From suncept to falling star

Till her heart broke in two

And tears ran anew

In a cell without any bars

In sorrow just what did she find?

But a human so gentle and kind

Who saved the day

In his own special way

And all of future mankind

The tree shook from the thunderous ovation. One by one they cast their magic aside, revealing their ivory hair, purple eyes, and flowing tears. A plump faery in a mauve dress stepped forward and embraced Ivy as more piled on.

I nearly cracked a smile until I realized I was also on the menu. There was little time to think, to react. So I did what any logical human would do–I ran, as fast as my legs could carry me. I did not get far until I collapsed under an avalanche of hugs and kisses.

The Key of Neverhence - Chapter 1: Gibberish

© Claudia McKinney and Tiffany Mize-Carter

Book I: Charmed

Neverhence

One and all

Casting towards

Cheerful calls

Without a step

Without the fall

Travels commence

Neverhence

Chapter 1: Gibberish

The world raced by in all its fiery madness. I could see my epitaph now:

Here lies Yvan Frollingswyrth

That cranky old bastard

Who was foolish enough

To marry a cloud faery

And was never seen again

(If you only knew half of the story)

Through a tunnel of fire we bounded, our essence thundering across the world of Adura. My eyes burned, teeth chattered, and balls ached. Before I could curse the dragon whose magic sent us here, an explosion ripped through the spinning inferno.

I grabbed Ivy, and held her close as molten debris rained down on us. As we bathed in a hail of fire and brimstone, a wayward fragment shot into my mouth, and down my throat. Even if I could swallow fire, I did not want to see what it looked like coming out the other end, so I hacked as best I could, coughing my lungs inside out. To my surprise the sinking ember had gone down smoothly, as if I’d inhaled a firefly rather than charred ruin. But what would an insect be doing in the tunnel of fire? Aw, well. Perhaps I needed a little extra protein.

Before I could rub two brain cells together, we burst into the kingdom of Timara, landing at the edge of a floating meadow.

We had arrived.

Paradise at last.

Yeah, right.

Once I had my wits about me, I promptly kissed the ground, promising never to travel by magic again, especially that of a dragon. I rose, making sure all of my well-seasoned appendages were intact. With any luck, one might even work.

“So…what do you think?” Y’velina grinned, a snowy wisp of hair brushing across her cheek.

“Did the trip over fry your brain?” I adjusted my bifocals.

“I knew you’d like it,” she beamed.

I shook my head. Cloud faeries—thick-skulled as always.

I scanned over our new home, a towering oak that twisted into the clouds. In the distance, several floating islands drifted by, including a small patch with a hand-painted sign that read ‘This way to Holloway Springs.’ Although the tree was massive, it was also somewhat limp, like so many other things in my life.

“So you brought me all the way out here to live in a tree?” I balked.

“Not just any tree, a tree of life from the Faeries of the Underwood.”

“Next I suppose you’ll want me to swing from the vines and devour the commoners,” I said.

“Just the naughty ones.”

As our little tiff unfolded, a young faeling (or faery child for those as ignorant as I) scurried down from the tree. He winged over and stared at me, his mouth agape.

“What’s wrong, boy—crap your pants?”

He unleashed a tirade of gibberish, bouncing up and down as he spoke.

“What in the blazes are you babbling about?” I snapped.

Ivy smiled as the green-eyed twit yakked in sounds of ridiculous tone and length, punctuating it ever so often with the words “Joo-mey Joo-mey.”

“Listen, you little popperwot—if you don’t stop, your head’s gonna explode.”

The young fool mumbled something more, and then shot back into the tree, yapping all the way.

“You failed to mention the locals are savages,” I glared at Ivy.

“Silly, he said his name is Joomey, and he just wanted to,” Ivy bit her lip, “welcome you to Holloway Springs.”

“Joomey, eh?” I scratched my chin. “You sure he wasn’t looking for a bone to gnaw on?”

Ivy frowned, and then yanked me by the ear over to the tree. As we stepped into the shade, a chorus of whispers loomed over us.

“They’re waiting for us up above,” Ivy sighed. “Shall we, my prince?”

Did I have a choice? I guess I really didn’t want an answer.

Song: Awakening - An Inspirational Poem

Awakening

The great expanse

Mysterious

Before me

One day soon

I will join her

Clouds

Mist

Extend from my palm

I am a teardrop

In the rain

Falling

Bursting

Awakening

Great cloudburst

Wash away

The poison

Brooding in her

Great teeth of light

Purge the bitter stains

From her heart

Sing with me

Awhile longer

Play my song

Forever more

So that she may hear

This last request

This waning breath
Fading

Fast

This final lyric

The Spawning

Dancing
Whirling
In the fire
I am the ember
Who does not tire
Across the cabin
Roof
Beds
My spark
Is contagious
Mine to spread

The prance
Continues
Into night
From afar
They join me
Muses of light
Radiant
Spinning
Wicked
Brash
The guests falter
Then turn to ash

And from dust
A crystal
Rises in wake
Mine to slumber
Yours to take