by Enoch Enns
“It is Porhwood,” said lord Keyno as he strode forward, “an even more difficult vein of journey to use, so you needn’t worry of unwanted visitors. For indeed this place is not built for intruders as you saw with Pamela being refused entry beyond the upper chamber.”
Mr Fauldon felt humbled in the man’s presence. “I am overwhelmed by this place and the responsibility I now hold. Truly, a home of it I shall make, but of what tribute have I been granted your visitation?” he asked to the Calnorian lord.
Straight to the point did Keyno answer him: “You saw the stone quake just now. I am here to tell you that it needs you more than ever. Though the Overlap seems at bay with the removal of Grevious, it is only momentarily. You must now nurture the stone made weak through Grevious’ abuse. When he used it to tear through the realm, its strength faltered. Should you have used it, it would have cracked. That is why the knight respected you so. I see he has also granted you clarity where once you had only questions—such will do you favor in the task remaining. As Karier, your accomplishment of carrying the stone to its resting place is admirable, but now you must become its caretaker.”
Mr Fauldon was reminded of the words spoken to him by Beelstow as they were echoed in those now said by Keyno. He looked down upon the fragile stone. Truly, it bore its own fragility and personality.
“Care for it, Mr Fauldon, that it may regain its strength when the old stone fades. I leave you now, with my gratitude for accomplishing the first task. It has restored my faith in sir Knowington’s judgement, as well as the people’s confidence in me. I bid thee well.”
And just like that, Keyno no longer was in the room.
Mr Fauldon inhaled deeply, thinking about the responsibility upon his shoulders. Indeed, he had not feats of might nor magic, but he knew the burden he did bear could only be borne by him.
And because of that, he was confident in saying he needed help also. Though bearing the load of Karier, had he not the help of friends, nothing would have turned out as it did.
Thus, his eyes did raise to the light above him. The aroma about him felt like home and brought peace to his once troubled heart. Up and up did his gaze go until everything turned white, and his consciousness did return to that vision at New Pond.
His mind also took him back to when he had first emerged from that cubical. Reminiscing, the view caught him off-guard as though seeing it for the first time, and amidst its splendor, the once familiar booth now turned to earth and crumbled down upon itself. In its stead, a gigantic cloud tree sprang forth from the ground and began raining down upon the rubble—turning it to mud and flowing henceforth down the opposite side.
It was then his eyes opened as though from a dream to the realization. The booth… the crumbling… the cloud tree and the mud—it all meant something.
The clarity to him was like one remembering to take off the camera lens. New Pond… the place Pamela had taken him. It hadn’t been there before.
It hadn’t been there when he’d first come to the place.
It was the remnants of rubble from which he’d once came—the booth in that city into which he wandered with hope of a new task. Which only meant that the Overlap was inevitably still coming, and that a realm was soon to crumble indeed. Also, it was only but a shadow of what was to come. Despite his clarity and insistence, however, he never did convince Keyno of the warning. For all they cared, the “vision” was naught but “Fauldon’s dream”, and he was naught but the Karier of the Task.
And no one thought any more of it (except sir Knowington, for he already knew).
THE FOLK THAT DWELL
An Introduction To That Which Is To Come
To say the story stops there would be a preposterous idea. By no means! I have far more to tell you and for you to discover in the Realm of Euphora. Its creatures, its nature, its characters, its imagery—there is far more than meets the eye aside from what you have read thus. Like what came of Nomad’s dream? What of Nobaph? Does Beelstow ever overcome Lerchah? What occurred to Grevious during his slip that made him so terrified? What kind of Karier was he before?
There are many aspects of Euphora to still be spoken about, of which I leave you with two: the story of the Shrooblin and a little more upon that brief mention of Beezleton. Keep in mind: the intent is that everything has a beginning and an end. It is for that “end” that one must keep reading the Grand Series that I am yet unfolding. The first book, The Grand Attraction, serves as a foundation of that great hall into which all stories lead. That hall then leads to the greatest attraction of all—the door at its end. But to get there, you have to walk (or in the case of actuality, you have to read and imagine). For there are many things leading to that hall that need to be told, and a good many of the hall’s doors that need to be opened. Fauldon’s Dream and the Karier of the Task is but one of those doors.
So I leave you with the continuation of that which means far more than written in this book. Some may have wished for the sequel, but that will come all in good time. There are things I must speak, words I must write, characters I must introduce, and stories I must tell before you learn of their true extent. Thus, I challenge you: stay with me on this journey through the mind of fiction. The imagination defies explanation, so why define it? Such words are the fuel to my writing. Let no mind be bound by two eyes. Let no story be bound by one character. Let no character be bound by one door.
May you come to enjoy this as much as I have and still am! For many questions remain—and I look forward to elaborating upon them.
THE FOLK THAT DWELL
Trissellah Faeries and the Tale of the Shrooblin
To that which pertains to the Shrooblin and their origin, our story actually goes way back before the Shrooblins and to when the Trissellah dwelled in the Darsel Woods prior to the Entanglement.
The Trissellah were a benevolent culture of faeries and such. With their glistening wings would they spur about the woods of old in fascination and splendor. Caretakers, they were, of the natures of those woods, their creatures, plants, and substance as a whole. Fluttering and flattering, the faery folk were gifted with the ability of Nutrient—a forgotten magic, capable of wielding nature’s growth, health, and livelihood. Thus, the faeries of Darsel Woods were known in mystery and wonder.
Then the Entanglement came. Also known as the Envinement, the Entanglement brought forth a force of nature not previously known by the Trissellah. But let us not get ahead of ourselves, for one must first be introduced to an essential character to understand the bringing about of the creatures called Shrooblin. This faery’s name was Wingless, for unlike her kind, she bore no magnificent wings, nor could she flutter about as her folk so often did. Rather, she was forced to dwell upon the ground and never leave it. While her kind flew high and twisted elegantly about the vast trees, Wingless would but walk in their wake, counting the roses and feeling the soil between her toes.
“Come with us and play,” her faery friends would tease as they reached for the veins of wateriness above. “Let us play another game a tag!” they would still go on to say.
But Wingless would never let it get to her, for she learned quickly how to deal with her difference. She had sought counsel from the Teachtress and had been bestowed a new confidence. The Teachtress had taught her where strength truly came from and what it meant to truly be a Trissellah. And when her friends would tease and ask her to play tag or watch the glow of streams above, she would ask them instead, “How about we count the stems of the Kripple Evergreen or dance on the roots belonging to the Web Oak?” Though many looked down upon Wingless, they respected the Teachtress for her guidance to the faery with no wings and saw her mature in other things. It was quickly noted that of all the nature faeries, she cared more than any for the nature of that which was bound to the soil and ground below.
Now, in the matter of Trissellah, there rules the Nature’s Prophet, a faery entrusted with foretelling the roots of the great trees and that which was to come. It was he who first ca
ught wind of the Approach, the coming of the Entanglement. From the Roots of Old did he pull the wisdom about the Envinement’s snare and cold choking over a forest that knew not how to dwell with it.
And nor did he.
It was in light of the Approach that the faery folk fled to the leaves high above and to the outskirts of the Darsel Woods that they might survive the Entanglement as it stretched its clasp swiftly and tightly. It was during the Great Fleeing that none of the Trissellah accounted for Wingless, who could not fly as they did and found herself trapped by the very roots that sought to overtake the woods.
Wingless was left behind and left even more bound to the earth. She did not give herself up to the self-pity most would have succumbed to even to their doom. Instead, Wingless wielded her gift of caring to feel pity for the suffocating woods and the nature that dwelt within. She saw the Entanglement as but a foreign traveler seeking dwelling amidst a woods that it neither understood nor that understood it.
Reaching out with the same care she always had, the faery began tending to the trees, the plants, the shrubs, and the vines—her touch being a comfort to all that came into contact. It was then she formed an odd attachment to the many uses of the mushrooms that dwelled previously and those that now joined as a result of mingling with the vine. Becoming a master of mycology (that is, the study of fungi and mushrooms), she learned to harness their ability to nurture, heal, and adapt.
For the withering flower, there she would place a red speckled shroom to nourish the soil that it might be rejuvenated. For the dried bark of trees both large and small, she found the blue shroom to be capable of pulling moisture from the air and granting more hydration. To the decaying stump, a green mushroom to better replenish the ground about it to spur new life. Even to those critters that still dwelt, there were shrooms for the sick, the weak, the poisoned, and the old.
With the help of the many types of mushrooms and the constant discovery of more, Wingless was able to spread her influence across the forest, even to the point of unionizing the Entanglement with the nature of the woods before. For since the Trissellah were gifted in the magic of nutrient and growth, so did Wingless learn how to bend the vines to her will, causing paths where there were none and passages where none previously could pass. To the outskirts would she occasionally go, seeing a weary traveler in need of passing through her great forest. She became a guide and median to the forest and foreigners alike—her intent on preventing any conflict.
But it happened that one day, while tending to the Roots of Old where moss of the slickest texture did reside, she found herself befallen upon the slippery ledges which clung deep within their web of wisdom. With no wings to catch her, she fell hard to the cavern below, her face and spine hurt and stained the ground. In wake of her tears, discomfort, and despair did a shroom near her suddenly glow a magnificent blue and come to life so as to give aid to the one who had aided so many. But drawing near to her, it knew not what to do nor for sure what it was doing (for it had never moved of its own volition before, nor was it accustomed to coming to life—it was altogether a first for the mushroom).
Leaning into her sight, the Shroom did the best it could to care for the injuries Wingless had incurred. From its members, it grew many herbs and fungi to try as each failed to heal her wounds. Growing tired from its frivolous efforts, it plopped down beside where Wingless lay and offered the only comfort it knew left to give.
Companionship.
It was then that Wingless managed a smile to the Shroom she had witnessed to life and give its all in healing her. She admired the creature’s passion, gift, and companionship—for her greatest ally had tried to save her as she had saved the forest. Thus, they passed the time together, talking of the beauty that the woods held despite having fallen to its moss.
But the time came that her strength was fleeting, and she spoke to the shroom her last words: “I bid thee well, my cherished friend. In my leave, take care of this forest for me, for it needs much healing and guidance. Look after it, please, and keep those that seek passage from harming it. Be sure the Willow Pines do not mourn too much, nor the Web Oak grow too bold. Keep the vines from hindering the Kripple Evergreen and be sure the creatures that dwell are still looked after—even those that burrow deep holes and disrupt the Roots of Old. Care for these woods and for nature as a whole. Promise me, please.”
And bringing forth its greatest courage and effort did the Shrooblin reply: “It will be our purpose.”
With that, Wingless breathed her last into a new life that would nurture nature in her stead. It was then the Shrooblin were born into Shroobliness. It was then that the first Shrooblin stood upon its own two little feet and admired the hands that it now had and the task before it. In a great swell of emotion and joy (with a little remorse, of course, for the passing of the wingless Trissellah), the Shrooblin said aloud, growing fonder of its voice, “We will be little yous scattered abroad and tending to this forest as you have taught us so well to do. We will care for these woods and those beyond.”
And so the long line of Shrooblin came to be known as the watchers of the Darsel Woods and the surrounding growths. It happened that the first Shrooblin nurtured the Collective and set about the code to which all Shrooblin were bound thenceforth. The code was such:
A Shrooblin must perform its duty, regardless of feeling, that Wingless may be honored.
A Shrooblin is required to assist all travelers through the entangled woods that they may not stray or harm the nature bestowed to our kind.
A Shrooblin is not to disregard its lineage and obligation to care for and nurture the weak, the sick, and the dying.
And lastly, a Shrooblin is to never abandon heritage—keeping with the purpose given by Wingless, the Trissellah that brought life to a crippling hope.
Thus, from generation to generation, the master Shrooblin would find its heir and train up for itself a prodigy to carry on. Since their lives reached into many centuries, a prodigy was selected at the moment one became the master Shrooblin. In the case of times more present, two masters dwelt in Euphora, one looking over the Darsel Woods and the other over the resurrected Wiliswall. Being as all Shrooblin were considered family, Aerold and Earold were siblings regardless of choice. It just happened that Earold’s master, Pewtoe, neared retirement sooner than the master of Darsel Woods, being Felistah. Usually a Shrooblin takes two centuries to become accustomed to their territory and the tasks required of them. They must learn every bark, every root, every rodent, every bird, every leaf, every twig, until it becomes like the very pores of their membrane.
But all Shrooblin retire to their first state, a resting place that originally formed the Hills of Variley. It was with the resignation of Pewtoe that his lover, Felistah, would resign as well that they both may retire to the same soil and at the same time as lovers and long-time friends. Earold was anxious and ready to take responsibility, even though only a century had passed since his upbringing. Felistah, the master of the Darsel Woods, still had a good century left to go in her, and Aerold was rather reluctant to replace her, being as she wished no responsibility nor any interaction with others.
Regardless, Earold convinced the two masters that both he and his sibling, Aerold, were ready—even though Aerold boldly objected. And since the two masters of old desired the same, they listened to Earold over the voice of his sister. Hence, it came to pass that the obligation to the code set before them by the first master forced Aerold to comply, even if unwillingly, to the bestowment.
The grudge has lasted nearly a century since, for they still had not reached the general age of masterhood, thus still were not bound to raise up a prodigy—something Aerold despised having to do when the time came.
THE FOLK THAT DWELL
The People of Beezleton And The Thistle Bees
There happens to be, near to the thistle bees, a people known as the Beezleton folk. Creative engineers and architects of nature mimics, the people of Beezleton were known for their yellow
mechanisms strapped about them like exoskeletons. For they used such mechanisms to scale the harsh walls and cliffsides of the river Floweth in their duties pertaining to the watch of the thistle bees’ honeycomb hives scattered abroad. For if they did not, many a creature would seek to disrupt the flow and consume all that is rich and sweet. Both as protectors and harvesters, the Beezleton folk functioned as caretakers for the thistle bees that dwelt along the vast expanse encompassing the mainland of Euphora.
Beezlewarden is what they were known as—those that were warriors for the hives and the harvesters of that sweet nectar treasured throughout. Wielding insects of gears and shafts, a Beezlewarden took pride in his unique craft. For to become a Beezlewarden, the pride of the Beezleton folk, one must first construct their Ward. A Ward most often was a mechanical mimic of an insect of nature. These “Wards” were oft equipped with wings of the finest honey-silks that made even Obliviouseh envious. Now, this feature was important to the Beezlewarden because of the need to cross the vast canyon being the river Floweth. Though countless swarms filled its berth, there were yet low and also high tides in which one still must avoid colliding with the large thistle bees, else they become agitated and stingy-minded.
Ever so often would the swarms reach their low, allowing for the Beezlewarden to flutter with their mechanical Wards down and into the hives etched across the mass of cliffside. Deep into these hives would they wander, sampling the nectars about and scouting for those creatures that sought to intrude. Many tales of bravery, both in reality and myth, are told of the Beezlewarden and their patrols deep into the hives. And should the rare occasion arise that a Beezlewarden not return from his expedition, the task would be burdened upon the Great Warden to decipher the mystery and recover the lost. For the Great Warden was the heart and soul of the Beezleton folk, being an ancient apparition of the first Ward—a silver mantis of preposterous proportions. Wielded by none, the Great Warden was driven by the instinct it had performed so many times with its creator, the most renowned of Beezlewarden to have ever arose past, present, and perhaps futurely (though not to say Beezleton’s future would never improve).