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The river closing over him, Barry grabbed at the rope-like loop cinched around his leg, tightening as it dragged him backward through the murk. He plucked and pulled, trying to loosen its grip while it scraped him across the rocky bottom, racing back toward Bog.
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Duggla the Crone hauled her flabby form out into the open and limped to a halt before the King.
“The enemy loves you. You haven’t a prayer,” she cackled.
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The King arrived at the southern border with a squad of Knights at his back. More Knights stood guard in a line that stretched along the border as far as anyone’s eyes could see. They were armed, alert, and determined to protect their homeland against whatever it was that waited just beyond the trees.
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On his way to begin his shift as the Prison Admissions Officer, Deputy Marco was the first to take up the King’s command. Ballooning his throat, he bellowed the call to arms.
ARRRAAAAAK-ORRRAAAWWWK!
ARRRAAAAAK-ORRRAAAWWWK!
ARRRAAAAAK-ORRRAAAWWWK!
The King nodded, Barry waved, and the Knight’s alarm rippled down the rise, rousing other Knights and able-throated subjects to add their voices to the river of sound rolling through the Kingdom, swelling to a sea of shivering tones breaking in waves warning everyone of the approaching threat.
Elliot rushed to Cassandra’s side, determined to keep her close.
She kissed his cheek and turned to the King. “What can we do to help, your Greatness?”
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Elliot had been intent on King Arnie the Former’s face as he stood with closed eyes, silently remembering whatever it was that sweet voice had said to him.
Now, through the tears welling in his eyes, King Arnie of Bog contemplated the vast landscape spreading before them like a rumpled carpet.
Elliot ventured a quiet question. “You let her go?”
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“We need to talk.”
Persephone’s joy vanished while the four words portending Relationship Doom hung in the air.
Not wanting to believe it, she curved the corners of her mouth upward into a tight, frightened imitation of a smile. “Arnie? Is something wrong?” Each word passed her lips through a slog of reluctant molasses.
Prince Arnie stiffened and tried to avoid her searching eyes. He still had his arm around her, the smooth delicacy of her enticing and fragile shell a cruel reminder of how easily she could be crushed.
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“Arnie!” Persephone called, “Come up from there, I have something to tell you!”
Sluggishly, the Prince paddled to the bank and dragged himself ashore. His lady love was so excited, she didn’t notice his reticence.
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“When the Party ended,” King Arnie confided, “the trouble began.
“Everyone in Bog lined up to watch the Suns of Glory lead the residents of Fen back home. My critics grew increasingly restive as the Lady Persephone-less parade passed them by. When the last of our Fen friends had crossed the border and she still hadn’t, the whispers spread.”
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“We won that war, and the Knights and the Suns of Glory set about repairing the havoc the Marauders had wreaked. Lady Persephone and I took on the task of helping Bog’s citizens heal. We broke our fast in a different medical station each morning, visiting the injured warriors and their families and friends. We spent each afternoon delivering food and supplies to the regular folks who had suffered other kinds of losses. Each evening, we held a community dinner in a different region.”
King Arnie peered at Elliot’s face. “We should head back to the others. Do you need assistance?”
Elliot stood as tall as he could. “No, Your Greatness, as long as we go slowly. I want to hear the rest of your story before we get back.”
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“Her name was Persephone, and it was my own fault I lost her. If I’d only known then what I know now…” King Arnie’s voice, at first a whisper, died altogether under the weight of his memory.
“What happened, Your Greatness?” Elliot prompted him.
Space, Time, and Raspberries 
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