Arturo

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The further they went, the thicker the droning streams of wasps that passed overhead, all hastening in the same direction.

“Where is everyone going?” Cassandra asked her escort.

He looked grim. “To your friend’s reckoning.”

“Reckoning? What do you think he’s done?”

“Quiet!” the leader called over his shoulder.

“But we don’t even know why we’re here!” she shouted.

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Down the Rabbit Hole

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Image credit: Rein Nomm

The vision imploded to a whirling point of light, spiraling a widening hole into the ground, spraying soil to the sky, vanishing with Cassandra’s voice. Elliot was back in the nighttime woods reclined against the fan shaped fungus, the taste of dirt and mold in his mouth. Every muscle ached.

“What did Queen Reishi show you?” The words fell from the trees.

Startled, Elliot looked up to see the orange-eyed creature smiling down at him.

“Where did you go?” he asked her.

“Nowhere. Where did you go?”

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Elliot’s 20/20 Vision

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Following a golden line threading its way through leafy trees and brambled bushes wasn’t as easy in his altered state as Elliot had anticipated. Sometimes the light seemed alive and beckoning. Then it might taunt him by vanishing down a burrowed tunnel to shoot into the sky several yards away as the barely visible trail of a manic firefly, only to fall into a puddle or pool like a disillusioned star. (It was impossible for him to tell which it was, pool or puddle, or even if there really was a body of water there at all.)

The minutes stretched to hours, the hours to days, and the days to years that lasted only seconds. I’ve been here forever, he thought. Why hasn’t the sun come up?

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Queen Reishi

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Photo credit: Herbert Baker

The first spongy bite tasted, not like chicken, but bitter like betrayal. Spinning back to face the creature in the tree, Elliot saw no one.

“Show yourself!” he demanded, but no one answered. “I knew this was a mistake. It’s probably poison, and now I’m going to die right here among these singing weeds.” What was it they were singing?

The hum in his head clearly told him to take another bite.

So he did.

Like anger, it roared to flame in his mouth, burning the song to ash, pouring steam from his eyes, clouding the sky with mosquitos.

“What the…?”

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Aye, You’re a Long Way from Home

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Photo credit: Edward E. Louis, Jr

Caught by those strange orange eyes, Elliot went limp, his uncertainty and growing aggravation evaporating in the warmth of that bizarre smile.

“I’m afraid I’m lost,” he admitted.

“We are all of us lost from time to time, and some are lost for all of time. Do you know in which land you dwell?”

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Clifton

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Photo credit: Mark Berkery
“What’s our Hero been doing all this time?” I’m glad you asked.

Elliot hadn’t eaten or slept since Cassandra disappeared more than two days ago. His infinite pacing traced a twisted, shiny slime path across the bower’s floor.

No one had heard from Vernon. His replacement, a pleasant enough nephew of Queen Lilian, unmotivated by anything except the promise of his next meal, apparently thought this new assignment was a vacation.

“Hey, Elliot, give the floor a break. Let’s go get a drink. It’s almost dinner time — wouldn’t it be nice to prime our taste buds with a little nectar first?”

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Rori Aideen O’Shay

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Photo credit: Steven Scott

“Rori Aideen O’Shay,” she corrected him, holding out her hand, “an’ I’m not ashamed ta say it.”

Bowing as deeply as his bandages would allow, Vernon took her hand and pressed his lips to it. “Now I know why your children are so beautiful.”

Fergus laughed. “Were ya thinkin’ I musta brought ya ta the wrong family?”

“I thank’ee kindly, Mr. Vernon,” Rori Aideen smiled as she wrapped Fergus’ arm around her shoulders and snuggled at his side, “but the finest qualities our children possess come from their fahther.” Her smile vanished in an instant and tears welled in her eyes. “I hope ye’ll forgive me rude behavior earlier, but I was so worried we’d lahst him…”

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Freeborn O’Shays

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Photo credit: Vincentius Ferdinand

Without a word, Fergus leaped to the call, leaving Vernon surrounded by a passel of curious hoplings.

“Me name’s Quinn. What’s yers?”

“Where do ya live?”

“Watch me! Can ya do this?”

“Why’re yer legs so skinny?”

“What’s that stuff on yer chest?”

“Did ya bring us any treats?”

Vernon held up his hands. “Hold on a moment. One at a time, please. First, let’s have some introductions. My name is Vernon. We’ve already heard from Quinn, so let’s go down the list.” He raised an eyebrow at the next one. “You start.”

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Fee for the Spinnerman

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Standing tall before the solitary ant, Arturo said, “Out of respect for the living, we ask you to leave.”

Boldly facing Arturo’s size and stinger, the ant’s voice pierced the air. “Respect for the living brought me here. My people need to eat, so we serve the world by giving purpose to its dead and decaying. This place smells of death, so I am here, and I must tell them what I’ve found. When we return, we will give thanks to honor the life that was taken from one and shared with others.”

Arturo dropped to one knee. “Is it too much to ask that you wait to give thanks until the life is truly taken?”

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Pristalwhisp

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Photo credit: Discovery Channel, UK

Cassandra’s gasp of alarm breathed out as compassion. “Oh, you poor thing!”

The last gleam of daylight glimmered in sunset blue eyes, shadowed and lonely, tired beyond life, sorrowful and aching. Grime and cobwebs overlay a ragged gray coat that didn’t quite cover patches of skin ripped naked bearing scratches, scars, and seeping sores, the trophies of lost battles, the badges of survival.

Lowering herself to the ground, the feline groaned. “Who are you? Have you come to feast on my decay?”

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