Sneak Peek: Braedyn Bunny and the Missing Eggs - Chapter 1: A Dream Away

“Braedyn Bunny, you’ve lost your way,” a voice faded in the wind.

“Who’s that?” A gray hare sat up and looked around the blue meadow.

“Is everything as it should be? Everything as it once was?” her sweet voice came again, closer with every word.

The bunny gazed at the rolling hills and pink sky in the distance. Silver castles mounted atop floating islands drifted in and out of a veil of clouds, purple water falling from their gates and transforming into butterflies.

“Anything amiss?” The voice whispered in his ear.

“Far too long I’ve lingered in the meadow’s embrace, never questioning the bed I lay on or the gentle breeze tickling my whiskers.” Braedyn took a deep breath. The air carried with it the scent of honeysuckles, as if he were lying in a bushel. “This world of slumber has cast its spell on me, hoping that I would not question its generous hospitality. What is this place?”

“Etherharp.” Her breath raised the hairs on the back of the bunny’s neck.

“And what is Etherharp?” He looked around, trying to catch sight of her.

“The world as you see it, told from within.” She darted from ear to ear.

“Wait a minute.” Braedyn tapped his foot. “I’ve heard of such places before…in faery tales.” He watched another kingdom disappear into the clouds. “Paninae, I believe it’s called, whispered to me in a dream. Does this mean anything to you?”

“Though she is dear to us, this is not she.” The voice replied. “Timara, Ylysse, Dewfall…all kingdoms of the cloud faery are they.”

“Cloud faeries? Good gracious, how did I end up here?” Braedyn hopped around, determined to catch a glimpse of his elusive host.

“All things are possible in the world of fae.” The faery finally revealed herself. A butterfly with pearl wings and dark spots flittered onto his nose. Her sable underside melted away, revealing frosty, unblemished skin. An ivory mane descended from her scalp, weaving itself into braids. Her spotted wings shed their guise, now transparent and sparkling. She grabbed a handful of her knotted tresses and tied them back in a bow. “Boo!” she snickered.

The bunny jumped back, not sure what to make of her. “Who are you?” he asked.

“What does your heart say?” The tiny faery captured him with her violet gaze.

“Y…Y’lia?” Braedyn mumbled.

“See? Your heart does not lie.” She smiled and kissed his chocolaty nose.

“My goodness, where did that come from?” The hare scratched his ear. “It was as if someone whispered it to me.”

“Like this?” another high-pitched voice whispered in his ear.

The bunny shot straight up in the air.

And Y’lia said:

You’ve tapped a vein

Tasted the melody

And refrain

Don’t be afraid

Floppy ears

This is simply just

The way of here

With wings and rhyme

You’ll soon find

That this happens

All the time

“Time? Good gracious, what time is it?” Braedyn asked.

“Does it really matter?” The stranger whispered in his ear again.

The hapless hare jumped back, and hid in the brush. “I’m sensing that it does.” He peeked between the blades of grass.

“Indeed, what time is it? I was beginning to wonder the very same thing.” An identical faery flittered over and embraced Y’lia, her long hair flowing past her knees. She was draped in a low neck mauve gown, cut from the same ruffled fabric as her kin.

“Two of you?” Braedyn eyed them curiously.

And she replied:

Where there is one

Always a score

Two or three

Many, many more

Y’lana

Is my name

Of course you knew that

All the same

What time is it?

Let me take a peek

Dear me

What time is it

That you seek?

“The hour, at very least. Even the day would be helpful,” said the hare.

“Mine or yours?” Y’lia asked.

“Your world or ours?” Y’lana added.

“Mine, of course.” Braedyn cautiously stepped out of the grass.

“Hmmm…I believe it’s a hare past a freckle.” Y’lana shot Y’lia a look and giggled.

Suddenly Braedyn Bunny realized what was missing from the illustrious setting. “Wait a minute. What happened to my eggs?” He scanned over the meadow.

“Eggs?” Y’lana looked at her nails. “I haven’t seen any eggs. Have you, Y’lia?”

“Not a one.” Y’lia failed to hide her smirk.

Although aware of their dastardly deed, Braedyn did not acknowledge their deception. “So how do I get back to my world?”

“Your world is always just a dream away,” Y’lia lit up.

“Now back to sleep, little hopper.” Y’lana flew over and sprinkled faery dust on him. “In the world of dreams all will be made right.”

The bunny’s face tightened. “Give them back.” He inhaled a lungful of faery dust and sneezed.

“Whatever do you mean?” Y’lana tried desperately to keep the smile from creeping onto her face.

“Where are they?” Braedyn hopped forward, but the faeries were gone. Suddenly blue weeds shot up all around him, whipping around his paws and neck and pulling him under. The bunny nibbled through the bitter roots and scurried away, only to be met by a swarm of butterflies. Round and round they flew, their silver wings sparkling like the sun. Entranced by the whirlwind of light, Braedyn felt a wave of sleepiness rush over him. He forgot all about the enchanted thicket until it seized him by the ears and buried him in its embrace.

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 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.