Dylan's Quest

by Blair Drake

  Dylan looked in the direction Woli pointed and saw at least a hundred trees. “What tree?”

  “Just past those houses. It’s the tall nuitlit tree. See the turquoise house? It’s not much, but it’s mine.”

  Dylan squinted, as if it would help him to see over the distance better. What he did see was an enormous cypress tree, or a tree that looked like a cypress, but must be ten times larger. Instead of a straight trunk, the trunk was slightly bent like the back of the letter C. Where the trunk branched out and the leaves began, there was indeed a beautiful, yet tiny, house. It looked like a birdhouse or an ornament. It had the same board and batten vertical siding, decorative crowns, and gables with finials as the other buildings in Craydusk, only it was hanging from a sturdy branch of a tree. He could see a short walkway from where the leaves started to the main treehouse. And the one visible window looked like the arched windows you see in a church.

  “That’s your house? It’s really cute.” Dylan couldn’t believe he was telling a pixy her house was cute.

  When he woke up that morning, he never expected to be walking down the street with a pixy (or that pixies even existed), or changing his clothes just by closing his eyes and concentrating. Or that he had the power to tell people what to do and they’d actually do it. In hindsight, he realized he really had done it in the past.

  Woli hooked her arm in Dylan’s and said, “Come on, we have no time to waste. The last thing we want is for Portly to find us. He may snatch us up and take us to Queen Gaanne.”

  That was the one thing Dylan had yet to consider. What would happen if they did get ratted out by Portly? Would Queen Gaanne imprison them? Then how would he get back to GCA? How was he going to stop the horrible things that would happen when evil took over?

  Dylan looked up at the sky, which had yet to change in color or hue. And now, the crescent moon looked to be sleeping. His eyes were closed; his cheeks and nose were rosy pink, and sitting just at his chin was a violinist.

  The violinist had crazy silver dreadlocks, a fancy white shirt and red fitted vest in the same style everyone wore, including him. On his feet, Dylan could see what looked like socks. The tops of the socks had three tassels, and the pointed toes had one. As the violinist played a song Dylan couldn’t hear, the cat sitting on his shoulder, and the other one on his lap, opened their mouths as if they were singing along. There was a third cat sleeping as soundly as the crescent moon.

  Woli jerked his arm. “Come on. No time to waste.” And with that, he looked away from the moon and they continued down the street.

  It was strange how the dress of the citizens of Craydusk represented the late 1800s, the cars represented the 1950s, and the games they played came from an era somewhere in between. It was as mixed up and jumbled as a dream. And though he saw a few cars, he had yet to see one driving down the street. The closest was Strix’s car in the alley.

  They continued past rows of houses in colors of lavender, cotton candy pink, and pale aqua. In one house, he could see a dog in every window; a pale-yellow car that looked like it was from the 1950s sat in the driveway of another house, and a man standing on an upper balcony waving at them. Dylan started to wave back, not wanting to be rude, but Woli grabbed his hand.

  “Don’t do that. Don’t let them know you see them. It’s best if they think you can’t see them.”

  But he did see them. And he saw the round woman pushing a lawnmower that looked more like a tricycle than a lawnmower. He saw an actual tricycle in the driveway and a girl riding her street cruiser bicycle down the sidewalk with her brother sitting on the back fender, facing the opposite way. And just when he thought he’d seen it all, a young boy, reading a book, blew by inside a bubble.

  For a place that had a queen who hated magic, the entire town seemed magical. Everyone looked content and at peace, like the Norman Rockwell drawings on the covers of the Saturday Evening Post magazines his dad collected.

  After the boy in the bubble, at least three dozen more followed him, but Dylan couldn’t see anything in them. And when the bubbles hit the trees growing high above the three-story houses Dylan expected them to pop, but they bounced off the burgundy red and teal green leaves and bopped their way down the street in the same direction he and Woli walked.

  “Don’t look at the bubbles, either. On the backside of those bubbles there are worker bees.”

  “But what about the bubble with the boy? Is there a bee in with the boy?”

  Woli shrugged. “How am I supposed to know? I’m not in the bubble with him.” Woli tugged Dylan again. “Come on, we turn right here.”

  When they turned right, the new neighborhood could not be more different than the one they just left. Where there was once sidewalks and well maintained front yards with three-story Gothic Revival homes, there was now desert. Woli and Dylan trudged along in the sand, dodging the reptiles scurrying from under the brush and darting in front of them.

  Where there were bubbles in the air, there were now cows. No wait, those weren’t cows, they were fish. They were fish with wings like birds and the black and white pattern of dairy cows. On the largest fish, a man sat atop a western saddle. He wore chaps, a leather vest, and a blue checkered bandanna around his neck. He maneuvered the fish with reins as if the fish were a horse, and he was swinging a rope above his head. Suddenly, he pushed the spurs of his boots into the side of the fish, and the fish lurched forward. Then the man leaned forward and swung his rope, aiming for another fish. Dylan laughed when the rope just swooped over the fish and back down to the ground.

  You missed, he thought. Then he said aloud, “You’ll catch the next one.”

  Then the rope hooked on a saguaro cactus, and the man was jerked out of the saddle and left hanging from the end of his rope.

  “Is this your idea of the Wild West?” Dylan asked, chuckling.

  Woli jerked them to a stop. Looking at him, she said, “Stop looking around. Look straight. Do not make eye contact. Do I have to tell you this again? Because if I have to tell you again, we probably won’t make it to see King Riata. You do not want to be sucked into their reality. Believe me, you don’t.”

  “Fine.” She was used to all the fun things around her, but to Dylan, it was amazing.

  “Let’s play a little. Keep your mind off the people and things,” Woli said. “Let’s practice your lippy skills.”

  “I don’t think that’s a good idea.”

  “You just have to be nice, that’s all. You can tell me what to do. It’s safer than you trying to transform. Besides, you need to hone your skills, and I’m a willing participant. It’s just like being hypnotized. I’m okay with it.”

  Dylan didn’t know what to tell her, so he said, “Bark like a dog.”

  Woli turned to look at him. “No, stupid, you have to tell me, like ‘Woli, you want to bark like a dog.’”

  “Woli, you want to bark like a dog.”

  And Woli barked. And barked. And barked.

  “Okay, enough. No more barking, Woli.”

  She stopped barking. “Well, what are you going to make me do?”

  Dylan smiled. She had no idea she was just barking. This was cool.

  “Woli, you want to get down in the sand and crawl on your hands and knees.”

  She did just that, and she was fast.

  “Woli, stand up,” he commanded. He was good at this. He didn’t need practice.

  “Well?” Woli said, brushing sand off her knees and hands.

  “You’ve already barked like a dog and crawled on your hands and knees. What else do you want me to make you do?”

  “Make me hug you,” she said.

  “Woli, I’d like you to hug me.”

  She cocked her head. “Did you learn nothing? Try again.”

  “Woli, hug me,” he said forcefully.

  She ran at him and wrapped her arms around him, and he enjoyed it. He let her stand with her arms around him for almost a minute, then said, “Let go.”

  Woli let him go and
turned back to walk along the sand.

  “I felt the last one. You didn’t hug me back. Next time, you need to hug me back.” She didn’t look at him as she said it.

  Duly chastised, Dylan looked straightforward and continued walking. Though they were in the desert, the sky hadn’t changed and the temperature was still quite comfortable. He did sneak a look up at the sky and noticed the moon was nowhere to be found. How was it possible the moon could just disappear? I suppose in Craydusk, anything can happen.

  “Are we still in Craydusk?” Dylan finally asked.

  Woli shrugged. “I guess. It’s the outskirts. I think your world calls it the suburbs.”

  Dylan would call the street they were on before the suburbs. Quaint neighborhoods where people mowed their lawns and kids played in the front yard. Where they were now definitely was not the suburbs.

  Dylan was sure they walked through the desert for at least an hour before they made another turn and were back on a street that looked exactly like the previous one. It had the same architecture. The houses were the same aqua, pink, blue, or lavender. The massive trees with their crooked trunks rose high above the houses once again, but on this street, every house was behind a picket fence. And not a single home had a gate in their picket fence. Dylan found this interesting, wondering if there was an alley behind the houses they used to come and go. Then his breath caught because he was sure one of the trees looked at him. When he glanced back at it again, there was no face, but he was sure he saw one. Behind them, he heard a loud voice.

  “Excuse me, excuse me.” Even though he’d been told not to, Dylan looked behind them. And when he did, a girl dressed similar to the men he’d seen, wearing a top hat with her hair in a ponytail, road by them on a penny farthing. She had her dog running just in front of the bicycle on a leash. This was the most normal-looking animal he’d seen so far, as it looked just like a Jack Russell terrier. The illusion was spoiled when the dog opened its mouth to bark, and instead of barking, Dylan heard, “Excuse me, excuse me.”

  Dylan shook his head. He still wished this was a dream. Everything in this place seemed like a dream. He felt he could wake up any time he wanted, but he wasn’t in any danger at the moment, so he decided he’d continue on the journey.

  They took one more turn and were again in a different environment. The trees in this place made redwoods look small, and climbing the trees, a beautiful ivy in the colors of gold and silver. Before them, a dirt path opened that was the color of red wine.

  “We’re almost there,” Woli said. Instead of just walking, she started skipping.

  Dylan jogged to keep up with her. He was not going to skip.

  The burgundy path meandered among the trees. When Dylan looked up, he again saw bubbles hanging in the air. But these bubbles weren’t large, like the one with the boy. They were small enough he could hold one in the palm of his hand. And just as he was reaching up to see if you could hold one without it popping, he heard a noise.

  Woli stopped dead in her tracks. Dylan followed her lead.

  There it was again. It was a rustling in the bushes at the bottom of the trees.

  Being braver than Dylan, Woli called out, “Who’s there? Who’s following us?”

  Sure, fine for her. She could fly away. What was he going to do? He had no idea how Henry melded them into the wall back at the café.

  She sounded tougher than she looked and tougher than he was. They listened for a moment, but there was no rustling. As soon as Woli took a step forward, they could hear it again.

  “I’m telling you, I have arrows. I’ll shoot you with them. They have a powerful tranquilizer, and you’ll be sorry.”

  Dylan whispered, “You have tranquilizer arrows?”

  Woli got so close that her lips were touching Dylan’s ear. “Just shut up. No, I don’t have tranquilizer arrows, but they don’t know that.”

  Woli, she was a devious one, but for the greater good. Dylan thought he could learn a thing or two from her.

  They started on their way up the path once again, and for a time there was no rustling.

  Dylan began to make out the bridge. It was a beautiful ivory color but looked more like a banister in an expensive home than a bridge. As they moved closer, he could see barge boards, finials, and carved spindles. Latticework adorned the corners where the foot of the bridge reached down into what must’ve been a river at one time. But now, there was no water. Dylan wondered if this ravine being dry was good or bad. Since arriving in Craydusk, he couldn’t seem to tell what was good or bad.

  Hadn’t Woli admonished him not to acknowledge the city folks? There must be a reason for that. And now that he thought about it, the territory next to Craydusk was called River Ruin. Was this the River Ruin?

  They were within twenty-five feet of the bridge when whatever was following them jumped out on Dylan’s side of the path. Dylan screamed like a child. It was so loud and piercing Dylan was embarrassed for himself more than he was scared.

  “Who are you? What’re you doing here?”

  Was this a troll? Dylan thought.

  “Jervis? Is that you?” Woli asked.

  If this was Jervis, and he was a troll, he looked nothing like Dylan expected.

  The creature standing in front of them came up just to Dylan’s waist. He couldn’t figure out where the hair ended and the body started. He wore a giant acorn cap on his head, and the hair coming out from under the acorn fell to the guy’s mid-waist. His eyes were large and green, his nose large and round, and his hair a coppery red. His beard and mustache covered his entire face except his nose and eyes, and the mustache was braided down either side of his face. Dylan wondered if he wore knee high hairy boots, or if they were the troll’s feet. The fabric of his pants and shirt were so soiled and stained, it was difficult to ascertain the original colors. His hands were wrapped in some sort of gauze fabric, and he carried a heavy stick.

  “How do you know Jervis?” the troll asked.

  Woli said, “I’d know that voice anywhere.” Her voice was so excited Dylan half expected her to reach out and hug the smelly troll.

  “Woli?” Jervis said.

  Dylan thought he could see his smile forming underneath the heavy layers of matted hair. And then it happened, Jervis reached out with his arms wide and they hugged. When Jervis raised his arms to hug Woli, Dylan thought he might pass out from the smell. He considered telling Jervis he needed a bath, and maybe to shave all of that matted hair. But that wouldn’t be nice or fair. He knew nothing of the troll’s habits. Maybe he looked and smelled like this as part of his culture, or maybe he’d been hunting.

  After a quick embrace, Woli stepped back. She rubbed her nose as if trying to get the smell out of it.

  “How do you and Jervis know each other?” Dylan asked.

  “He used to babysit me.” Woli looked to Jervis. “And I was a brat, wasn’t I?”

  Jervis nodded.

  “A troll for a babysitter. Just when I think I’ve heard it all,” Dylan said.

  Jervis cleared his throat.

  “Oh Jervis, meet my friend, Dylan. He’s a lippy.”

  She said lippy as if it was the best thing in the world—like he was a movie star or something. Jervis didn’t seem to care. If it was at all possible, and you could discern his head hair from his eyebrows, Dylan was pretty sure he frowned.

  “What are you so excited about a lippy for? They are manipulative and make you do terrible things.” Jervis was now walking in circles around Dylan.

  Woli pushed Jervis lightly on the shoulder, catching him off balance. “No, he’s not like that. He doesn’t even know how to use it very well. He’s also a chameleman. He could look like a troll if he wanted. Isn’t that exciting?”

  Dylan wasn’t sure if Woli’s excitement was her acting or if she really felt that way about him. He decided now was not the best time to ask. But he was pretty sure she wasn’t that excited about him, since earlier she called him names and threatened to leave him on his own
.

  “Why are you in the forest?” Jervis asked. “You know it’s not safe for pixies here.”

  “Not for baby pixies, but I’m not a baby anymore.” She twirled around as if to show off that she was an adult.

  Under his hair, Jervis mumbled, “Not exactly a grown up, either.”

  Woli quietly said, “We’re here to see King Riata.”

  Jervis tugged at the ends of his mustache with each hand, still not letting go of the staff he carried. “King Riata doesn’t live in this territory anymore. He hasn’t for a very long time.”

  “Professor Tully said we could find him here at the bridge, living with the trolls,” Dylan said. As soon as the words were out, he wished he kept his mouth shut because Jervis’ eyes got very wide.

  Before any of them could speak, a man appeared before them on the bridge. “How is good old Professor Tully?”

  The troll gave a slight bow then stood and said, “Your Highness, we have visitors.”

  The man on the bridge looked more like a court jester than a king. He had a long, flat face with brown eyes and eyebrows that looked like they were drawn on. He wore a long sleeved blue shirt with a dark green yoke. Like just about every other man Dylan saw in this territory, he also wore a tie, but it looked more like a bow you would see on a present. On top of his head was a medieval jester’s hat, or what was known as a fool’s hat. It sported three long points that hung down near his ears and bobbed when he moved his head. Normally, at the end of a jester’s hat, there were bells jingling when they moved, but the end points on King Riata’s hat looked like bubbles.

  “Do not call me Your Highness, Jervis. You don’t call me that in private, I don’t expect you to call me that when we have company.”

  “I’m sorry, King. It’s not like we have much company.”

  King Riata did not step forward. He stayed in the middle of the bridge. “Where are my manners? Please come join me. I want to hear all about Professor Tully.”

  King Riata turned on his heel and walked back toward the River Ruin side of the bridge.

  Grudgingly, Jervis said, “Follow me.”

  When Professor Tully, or was it Henry, said tKing Riata lived under the bridge with the trolls, Dylan imagined caves, or something out of The Hobbit. Instead, there was another elaborate Gothic Revival house.